Hands On
by Tigre101
Summary: Eragon and his companions have been working for nigh on a decade to prepare the education for future riders. That is where we pick up the story, planning to be EXA long term. R&R
1. Letters Home

"The truth about being a rider", thought Eragon, "Is that we are forged by our circumstance". The wind blew gently through the window of the keep, following his unsteady, yet smooth gait as though even Mother Nature was keeping a watchful eye on the Rider. His bare feet made nary a whisper on the dark stone he strode across, not did his breeches or tunic rustle around his body. If one closed their eyes, his presence would have been nonexistent. However, it was a moot point. The keep was home only to himself and his elvish companions.

Eragon felt his life partner a few miles out from the keep, hunting her breakfast. Saphira, he thought, had grown beautifully in the last few years since they had left home. Her azure scales shone with unrivaled sheen, even in the pitch black, he could see the glint of blue reflecting off her scales. He could feel her pleasure through their link at his thoughts, and his grin spread across his face.

His feet carried him down hallways and stairs, to the bottom floor of the keep, and into an unassuming kitchen. The fire was burning merrily in the fireplace on the far wall, a pot boiling above the flames. Eragon approached the hearth, retrieving a cup from the mantle, and a handful of leaves from the pot beside the cups. He dipped the cup into the pot, and crumbled his leaves into the water, setting the cup back on the mantle to steep. He waited patiently for his tea to steep, before he took it out the other door in the kitchen, an out side door that led down a set of stairs to an almost endless lawn.

Trees and plants dotted the surrounding area, but flat ground and dark green grass were predominant in the center. Eragon sat on the steps and pulled out the small book from his tunic. He leaned against the railing and began to read, studying yet another subject that had struck his fancy. The soft sound of wind in the leaves and birds calling to each other played softly in the background. When Eragon finished his tea, he closed the book and put it back in his tunic pocket. He gained his feet gently, stepping out onto the grass, and began his morning stroll around their home. When he reached the edge of what he considered their territory, he turned and followed the edge around the keep.

The keep was enormous, carved from the side of the only mountain for leagues. There was no attempt to hide it. No wall was built, no visible defenses. One massive door on all four sides of the mountain, and countless large windows and cavernous entrances. The dark stone, when chiseled out of the way, had actually revealed a beautiful silver-grey, that reflected light well. Eragon was still in debate with Blodgharm about whether to polish the walls or let it remain rough. At night, when the fires were lit and the flameless lanterns were unshuttered, the near empty keep shone in a beautiful way. One day, Eragon supposed, it may echo with the life of the order he had been tasked to rebuild.

As Eragon continued his walk, he began to sing songs of protection and happiness, channeling bits of his energy into the spells. From the first day the Mountain had come into view of the Talita, when Eragon and Saphira decided that this was to be their home, Eragon had walked the perimeter of their new home, weaving small weak spells of protection. Five years of small weak spells of protection and care had built upon themselves to be nigh impenetrable barriers. Still now Eragon cast them every day, adding protection.

"How go your studies of metal, little one?", asked Saphira in his head, a tone of amusement present. He gave a mental nudge her direction, never ceasing his song. It had become their game to learn to communicate without ceasing outward activities. It had started as a game, that is. They soon found that it made their wits sharper. "I find it a very intriguing subject, this is true, but I feel in this subject, it would be helpful to have a tutor. Perhaps I should scry with Orik and request he send someone to educate me on our clan's in depth knowledge of metals and forging methods." Saphira hummed in his head, sending only a picture of a gnarled weathered face back in response, as she was in the middle of a corkscrew. "Perhaps she would deign to educate you?" Eragon sent back a run of mixed emotions. He did not want to slight his clan, but they couldn't afford to slight Rhunön, either.

Eragon thought at length, keeping his connection open to his life partner, and his voice and feet on the right path. As he came full circle around the keep, he also came to a decision. Reaching back out fully to Saphira, he informed her of his decision. "I shall scry Orik, as he is easily reachable, and send a letter to Rhunon, as the wards around Ellesmera will not bend for anyone. This way I may start my education as soon as possible. Besides, with my other project, I could use a knowledgeable stone worker as well. Maybe Orik knows of a dwarf proficient in both areas." Saphira sent affirmative feelings his way. "You should also send a letter to Queen Arya, informing her that we have settled and where." Eragon stumbled before catching himself. Saphira's voice was very blasé, doing her best to come off indifferent, withholding her personal feelings. It still put him in a darker mood, as he stopped by the stairs leading to the kitchen. He sent only the faintest feeling of agreement, before closing most of himself off from her.

Eragon topped the stairs, making his way back into the kitchen, scouring the cup that held his tea clean with magic, and placing back on to the mantle. He stepped back into the corridor, following a well worn path back to his study. Murmuring a few words at a blank stretch of wall, it faded, revealing a room rich in dark wood and sunlight. The windows were protected with the same spell that Eragon had encountered in Helgrind. The room had no visible walls, save for the fireplace on the east wall, and the large stack of wood beside it. The rest of the walls were bookcases, built around the windows on the north wall, even the secret door he had entered from. Directly in front of the north wall was a large desk, with papers stacked neatly to the side, and a small mirror in the other corner. Where there weren't books on the shelf, there were a variety of objects; a dazzling blue sword upon a stand, a scroll in a decorated wooden box, two large glowing stones upon velvet bags, and an elvish sung bow, and several hand bound books kept separate from the others. The stones glowed white and gold, respectively.

Eragon sat behind the desk, propping his head on his hands, staring into the mirror, thinking. He knew if he requested Blodgharm to have letters ran to Ellesmera, he would do it. It would likely take months to reach there on foot, even for the fleet-footed elves. Pondering on the dilemma, he opened a drawer, pulling forth parchment and a quill, and began composing his letters. His letter to Rhunon was blunt, not the political letter he knew he would be forced to compose next.

Rhunon-elda,

The elves and I have settled some four hundred leagues from Hedarth, down the Az Ragni. I have recently been studying the art of smithing, and am in search of a tutor. I am reaching out to King Orik, of the dwarves, requesting he send me a tutor learned both in metallurgy and stonework to begin teaching me the skills necessary to excel. I would have preferred to travel back to Ellesmera to seek an apprenticeship with you, however my duties would never permit it. If you have any advice or anything you would like to speak with me about, you can scry me or send a letter to me through another elf. Arya Drotting will know where to send it.

Regards,

Eragon Bromsson

Eragon laid down his quill, setting the parchment to the side to dry, staring at the other blank parchment in front of him. Feelings of dread and hopelessness wrestled inside of him. He felt Saphira draw further from him slightly, avoiding his thoughts.

Arya Drottning,

It pleases me to inform you that Saphira and our companions have found a safe place to fulfill our duties. Enclosed within this letter is a token that is enchanted to direct the holder to the chosen meeting place for new riders to come to me, located but a few leagues past Alegaesia's civilized border. The other token enclosed is for you and Murtagh only, given in the highest confidence. Only you will be able to make use of it, for it shows the way to our new home by dragon back. It would please me greatly if you will ensure Murtagh receives this. The last item enclosed is a letter for Rhunön-elda, and it is my hope that it finds her with the necessary speed.

May your reign be peaceful and prosperous,

Eragon Bromsson, Lead Rider

Eragon put away his quill and ink, unclenching his fingers from the edge of the desk. He could feel waves of pride coming from his life partner, and his lip twitched, if barely. It gave him no joy to dwell on thoughts of Arya, for fate had separated them by a nigh insurmountable barrier. Only time would clarify how it would end, or if it would even begin. Dwelling brought nothing but bittersweet pain and a longing that was hard to conquer.

Eragon's gaze drifted to the mirror on his desk. He sat up in his chair, leaning towards the mirror, and breached the magic in his mind. He bothered not to speak any incantation, focusing only upon opening a scrying connection with the Dwarf king. He felt a sense of satisfaction at the feat; his mental fortitude training was improving his abilities in leaps and bounds. A dwarf in black and gold robes was in the room conversing with a dwarf woman. Eragon cleared his throat softly, drawing their attention. "Hvedra, could you let Orik Konungr know that I would like a word if he has the time for it." The dwarven woman smiled at him. "I don't recommend calling him by that title, Shadeslayer. You know how my husband takes that from you." Eragon couldn't help but grin. "Why that's what makes it so fun, my lady." She smiled back at him, before leaving the room.

Minutes later, a dwarf entered the room, clad in chainmail, and a war hammer in his hands, he smiled at the mirror, approaching swiftly. "Eragon, mine brother, it is good to see your face!" Orik exclaimed, clasping a fist over his heart. Eragon grinned, and decided to bypass the game they typically played, trading greater and more ridiculous titles back and forth until they found themselves at a stalemate. "My brother, it is good to see you as well." Orik shifted himself slightly, settling into a chair. "What can I help you with, my friend? For you to pass up our normal game it must be rather pressing." Eragon smiled, before replying "I fear my reason for contact is selfish, brother. My endless curiosity has put me in need of a mentor that only a skilled dwarf can possibly fill." Orik's bushy eyebrows rose. "Tell me what you require, Eragon, and if it is within my abilities, it will be yours."

"I find myself in need of a dwarf skilled in the art of forging and stonework." Orik grinned. "You are a dwarf after all, stone head." He sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard with his hand. "Of course, brother, I shall send someone suitable to teach you that which any dwarf should know, and maybe some brothers to be of assistance. With the elves present, it seems only fair that a few of your blood be there as well. If you would offer them hearth, they will come to support you." Eragon only thought on it for a few minutes, before he agreed. "This seems more than fair, and extra hands are welcome. I appreciate this, brother." After they hashed out all the details, Eragon closed the scrying session.

Eragon leaned back into his chair, staring unfocused at the bookshelves. Thinking on his dwarven brother brought a smile to his face. They had remained in close contact, shield mates that they had been. It did Eragon good to see a friendly face. Not, he thought to himself, that the elves were unfriendly. They kept to themselves most of the time. Of course, Eragon also preferred his privacy. Maybe it wasn't all the fault of the elves. He smiled to himself, but if anyone had been there to see it, they would have claimed it was a grimace.

Eragon's attention was quickly drawn to the mirror, as it began to shimmer. The mirror eventually faded to reveal the face of his cousin. Every time he saw him, he seemed to age drastically. Maybe it was time, or maybe it was raising his children along with all of his other responsibilities. Eragon felt a pang if loneliness, once more wishing he could be home, among the only family he had left. Saphira quickly soothed his soul, embracing him mentally.

Roran smiled at him, dipping his head, not in a bow, but an acknowledgment of brotherhood. Eragon sat up in his chair, smiling back at his cousin. "Roran, my cousin, how fares life in the valley?" Roran grinned knowingly at him. "In the valley, life is grand, under my roof, however, it has moments of hell." Roran a reply was promptly followed by a loud crashing, making both cousins flinch. They both heard muffled screaming, that which could only be Katrina, berating a child. Eragon grinned. "At least they keep life interesting, eh?" Roran and Eragon conversed back and forth, trading stories of their current escapades, until Eragon was hit with a realization. "Roran, could you get a messenger to Ellesmera for me?" Roran thought it over for a minute. "I couldn't send a messenger, however, there is an elf that comes through town on his way to Illirea, trading messages back and forth, no doubt. He goes by the name of Vanir. He passed through but two weeks ago to Illirea, and should be back through in three weeks or so." Eragon quickly responded, thinking fast. "I have need to send you a package through magic, to be sent by Vanir to the Elven Queen. It would take months for an elf to deliver it from here, and the wards of the forest will prevent me from sending it directly. Is this agreeable?" Roran nodded quickly. "You need not even ask, cousin."

"I will send this package tonight, to the farm. It will be easier for you to find it if I am off by a few hundred yards or so." Roran nodded again. "I will receive it myself, Eragon." Eragon gave him a genuine smile. "The help is much appreciated, Roran. This package must be protected well, but it is too important to not be sent." Roran waved him off, and they cut the connection.


	2. Plans and Roots

The fire crackled merrily in the main hall, casting dancing shadows upon the walls and floor. Eragon sat at the head of a long table, elves and dwarves along the sides, all in conversation but for the Rider. Saphira lay curled to the left of the hall, her eyes closed as though she slept, but Eragon new better. Her mind was active, conversing with the Eldunari in flashes of thoughts and images. Blodgharm sat directly to Eragon's right, flipping through sheaves of parchment, eyes scanning quicker than a human's eyes could comprehend. Within these pages were Eragon's plans for his future students, outlining their training. Blodgharm finally put the pages back in order, handing them back to Eragon.

"Shur'tugal, your plans are thorough, encompassing many subjects, more so perhaps, than the riders of old deigned to study. I find no flaws in your planning." Eragon nodded when he paused. "Yet a question itches in your mind, Blodgharm-elda. I would answer if you would but voice it. All concerns need to brought up and satisfied before we begin. I do not plan to enact a plan with flaws when we currently have the time to rectify any that could potentially occur. I need everyone to be on the same page." Blodgharm made the sign of respect over his chest, and hesitantly voiced his concern.

" You mention nothing that concerns me, what concerns me is what is not mentioned. These plans would be satisfactory for a student with a basic knowledge of magic and the arts of war. However, when will they acquire such knowledge if they don't already possess it? Do you plan for a basic training to be partaken in Ellesmera before they journey forth to our home?" Eragon smiled kindly at Blodgharm, feeling the amusement radiating from Saphira as she snorted.

"Blodgharm-elda, while I have no doubt that any elf who resides in the great forest could teach the younglings what they need to know, I shall not shirk my duty. It is a long trek from here to Hedarth, maybe a month and a half on horseback. Tautha de orothrim shall be performed upon this journey. Any who become riders shall be escorted to Hedarth immediately, where they shall be escorted here. It gives me a chance to see the personality of our students, along with allowing their dragon to mature to a trainable age. Brom taught me enough to be trainable when I reached Ellesmera. I will take a page from my fathers book. Knowledge learned under duress will serve our younglings well, and make them appreciate the rest of their training more when they reach the keep." Blodgharm's face showed no emotion, a trait Eragon feared the elf would never willingly let go of. "Is Arya Drottning not capable of training the Riders as well?" Eragon smiled at the elf. "On the contrary, Arya Drottning could likely teach them more than I could by far. But it is my duty to prepare them for their roles, as it is her duty to rule the great forest. I would not deign to expect her to do both, capable as she is." Blodgharm smiled his pointed teeth at the Rider. "In that case, I find your plan acceptable, Shur'tugal." Eragon realized that the elf had been testing him.

"Are there any other questions, or observations, that should be made apparent here?" Thorv, the dwarven warrior who had volunteered to travel forth from his home, cleared his throat, drawing the rooms attention.

"Forgive my ignorance, if it is apparent, Argetlam. You have included lessons in dwarven and elven culture in your lessons, and clearly the culture and ways of the mighty dragons, but what of the werecats and the Urgals? Despite my natural dislike of the Urgals, I understand the riders are to keep the peace in the land. Would it not be beneficial to have someone to teach of their cultures and customs, along with those of the werecats?" Eragon grew thoughtful, slumping back in his chair. "You bring up a valid point, SteelFist. I shall confer with my cousin, who still has ties with the Urgal tribes, to see if he could find one who would take up the task. As for the werecats, I shall have Roran send a letter to Angela, and ask that she and Solembum seek a solution for the werecats. Is this acceptable?" Thorv nodded. "Aye, Argetlam. That strikes me as acceptable." Eragon stood, sliding back the chair he once sat in.

"If it is acceptable, I say we break for the day until dinner time. I wish to feel the sun upon my back for a time, and maybe the wind underneath me. The tables occupants nodded at him respectfully, and he took his exit, stepping into the sunshine, his bare feet touching the grass. He walked, his feet taking a well worn path, that meandered into the tree line, winding between solid oak trees and boulders larger than Saphira. The ground eventually began to slope upwards, climbing slightly until it ended atop a knoll. From there, Eragon could see the silver snake that was the Az Ragni, and for miles around him, he saw forest. Trees of green, flowers of purple. This place, Eragon thought, would be a superb place for a home. Images flashed in his mind, of his old home, ramshackle as it was, with its drafty walls and leaky roof, it still held a place in his heart. He decided that he would build himself a home here. A place to escape when he could. A place to conserve his privacy, when he felt he needed solitude. He sent his thoughts to his life partner, who sent him images of a depression by a crackling fireplace, in a place that looked similar to his old home. He smiled to himself. She approved, and that meant more to him than anything ever could. He sent waves of affection her way, and could feel her snort to herself, basking in his mental praise. Delving deeper into her mind, he felt her flying, meandering on the currents in his direction.

Eragon turned his head towards the sky, seeing the glittering azure mass, wings spread wide,circling into a slow descent. Her landing was incredibly gentle for her size, and she turned a large eye in his direction, filled with excitement for the flight to come.

The pair had spent hours in the air, minds open to such an extent that an outsider would have thought them one being, and at this height, they would have seemed to be but a bird. Eragon had left the saddle behind an hour ago, standing barefoot upon indigo scales. Saphira seemed not to mind his pacing, maybe it felt as a massage, Eragon mused. He suddenly found himself coughing in a cloud of smoke. "You are barely noticeable with your pacing, light as you step. You must begin to eat more if you wish to give me a massage." Eragon laughed, walking back to the saddle, and up her neck, until his feet were upon her head. "And now, queen of the skies? Am I still as light as a feather?" She didn't deign to respond, but Eragon could feel the increase in pressure from her senses. Her pride would not let her admit that she was straining to hold him there. He decided to test her pride, knowing he had the upper hand.

And suddenly, he didn't anymore. Saphira disappeared from beneath him, and he was free falling. He quickly spread his body out, catching as much wind as he could, stabilizing himself. High as they were, he had time, he thought. He felt Saphira's amusement at his new predicament. "It seems you were right, little one. You fall much faster than a feather." Eragon jabbed at her mind gently. "I believe you owe me an apology, then. You denied the truth from yourself, despite me telling you otherwise." Eragon felt a flare of annoyance from his partner. "No." Eragon shook his head, trying not to smile to himself, knowing the wind would pull at his mouth. Instead he breathed through his nose. "Will you at least come save me then?" Saphira was silent for a moment, before..."No." Eragon gulped to himself. "You are being vindictive, my heart." He felt her feelings of eminent victory. "You are too rude to save. Mayhap the collision will knock some sense into you. You should never insult a dragon". Eragon quelled his panic. He could save himself. By thickening the air around him, he could slow his descent by increments, without actually slowing his actual mass. It was a method he had discovered in the last few years, practicing it frequently with his life partner. Murmuring the spell within his mind, he felt his body slow. He had almost cut it too close, he thought, as he saw herds of animals scattering from the area. He landed a little harder than he planned, buckling his legs beneath him. He stood, ending the spell, just as his dragon landed beside him. Regaining his feet, he turned a glare her direction. She puffed smoke from her nostrils, her amusement apparent in his mind. Sensing he would get nowhere with her, he struck out in the direction of the keep. Instead of taking back to the air, to his surprise, Saphira stayed at his side, matching his plodding pace. After some time, she finally deigned to speak to him.

"Do you plan to build there?" Setting his annoyance aside, knowing he would never win against her, he replied. " I see no reason not to. Until an egg hatches, we have naught to do other than study. It will be good to work with my hands." He felt her acceptance in his mind. It was silent for a while, so long he almost forgot what she was talking about. "I believe you are an acceptable weight for one of your stature." Eragon smiled to himself, letting his previous mental arguments he prepared to float away into nothingness. "Thank you, Fireheart." He felt her pleasure at the name. Nothing more was said, and while the sun was still a handsbreadth above the horizon, they arrived at the keep. The fires were lit inside, and the glow of the place gave Eragon a warm feeling in his heart. The rider and his partner entered in time to break bread with their companions, before they bid farewell and retired for the night.

Eragon woke early the next day, hours before the sun made its appearance in the sky, trekking up the hill carrying a pick and shovel. He marked the outline of his future home out with sturdy sticks, verifying that it would be in square, and after a quick water break, he began to dig, removing stones and shovelfuls of dirt from what would be the foundation of his home. The work was slow going, and when the sun finally began to rise, he quickly shed his tunic. The sun quickly drew sweat from his skin, but the farm boy within him revelled in the manual labor. Eragon worked until he felt Saphira stirring from her slumber. He then hung his tools in the nearest tree, and struck out towards the river for a quick bath, before returning to retrieve his tunic. He struck out for the keep, arriving in high spirits. His normal day of work continued, studying, planning, and trying not to think of the endless waiting. Thus the days began to pass swiftly for the rider, as he became content with his lot in life.

Eragon did not finish digging the foundation of his home for another three weeks. He woke early every morning and proceeded with his routine. The tediousness of digging out stumps and roots and rocks didn't bother him, nor did the soreness of his limbs. He had finished drawing the plans for his home within the first week, and had been forced to modify the size of his foundation, but fortunately he hadn't proceeded far enough to have to undo any of his previous work. The pile of stones to the side of the foundation grew taller every day. Eragon refrained from using magic, his mind wandering back to his conversation with Rhunön, when his body was still broken from his battle with Durza. Her advice had stuck with him, something, he thought to himself, she would quite likely find pleasing. Thus Eragon plodded along at a snails pace, though a thoroughly enjoyable snails pace, in his opinion. At the end of the third week, the sun found Eragon sitting on his pile of rocks, his waterskin in his hand. He finished it off, surveying the fruits of his labor. The foundation had been dug, the rocks saved to be put back, half a man deep and a man wide. He would have to find more stones, he thought. He stood fluidly, grabbing his tunic as he jogged down to the river. It would be the best place to find what he was looking for, he reasoned. His mind flashed back to the night before, or rather the morning.

He and Blodgharm had spent the last three weeks hashing out the training regime that Eragon had organized down to the last tedious details. When the two had finished their debates last night, or rather early this morning, Blodgharm had finally been satisfied with the plans. However, despite his normally introverted personality, he had remained with Eragon in his study, drinking from a bottle of faelnirv that Eragon had stored on the shelf beside his hand bound books. The two had sat in a comfortable silence, the room full of the crackling fire and silent thoughts.

"You are a strange man, Shur'tugal." Eragon had looked over towards the wolf man, his blue fur shining in the firelight. His eyes met him dead on, no waver within them. It was not an accusation, Eragon knew that, just a statement. "Strange is not necessarily a bad thing, Blodgharm. At least I don't think so." The silence had returned to the room, but Eragon could sense the wolf-elf's curiosity. "In my short life, Blodgharm, my life has changed drastically, but I am still filled with curiosity. As are you, right now. I can feel it in the air. Speak bluntly with me, for we have accomplished much together, and the formalities weigh heavy on my patience. I am still human, after all." Blodgharm's eyes were unreadable, and he never broke eye contact. Eventually, he gave a sharp nod of his head, before he stared back at the fire. Eragon poured himself another glass, setting the bottle on the table between their chairs.

"I have observed you closely these past few weeks. You retire late, and wake hours before the sun rises. You sleep little and accomplish much, and never do you let any exhaustion show. Until a month ago, I didn't know this study was here. That tells me you value your privacy, as do most of my kind. I will not pry into your private affairs, but I am curious why you have shown me your private study, and my curiosity burns to know where you go so early." Blodgharm had spoken bluntly, as Eragon had asked. Eragon decided to be honest with the elf.

"I have brought you here because I trust in your discretion, and if ever you had need of me or access to the Eldunari in my absence, here you shall find it. As for where I go every morning, I am building a house." Eragon had answered him just as bluntly as the elf had asked, and the surprise on his face was enough to make Eragon smile. He stood fluidly, the faint buzz in his head not hindering his movements. "I shall retire for the morning, Blodgharm. I have much work to accomplish before lessons tomorrow, and must take a few hours rest. Shut the door when you leave if you don't mind. I would rather preserve the anonymity of this chamber as long as possible." Eragon promptly left the room, not waiting to hear the elf's acknowledgement.

————————

My thanks for the two reviews this story has already collected! I have a couple more chapters ready already, just pacing them out to give myself time to write more! I appreciate reviews a lot, and thank you all for reading!!


	3. Life Is Change

Digging rocks from the riverbed, Eragon quickly discovered, was more tedious than digging the foundation. And carrying the stones for a half league was even more daunting than digging them from the river. His persistence finally paid off, however. Six weeks after he began, he finally had enough rock to finish off the foundation, and the fire place. As he stumbled to the rock pile with his last load of rocks, however, he caught a flash of blue fur standing beside the trench that was to be filled with rock soon.

Dropping his pile of stones unceremoniously, he approached the elf. Blodgharm nodded at him, before turning back to his inspection of his home to be. "I thought you would have been done with this project already, Eragon." Eragon chuckled. "If I were dearly in need of shelter, my friend, I would be. But my stubbornness refuses to let me use magic. It seems I have taken to Rhunön's advice more than I thought I would. I find joy in working with my hands; perhaps there is still some farm hand left in me after all." Blodgharm gave him a smile, something the rider was becoming more familiar with here of late. "She always was the wisest of us all." Eragon snorted. "And rude as Bladgen himself. I was fond of her nature." Blodgharm chuckled softly. "My brethren are rather fond of yours, if we are speaking honestly. Our elven companions seem to find your way of living here liberating. To speak freely is a freedom we didn't know we had given up so foolishly." Blodgharm handed Eragon a waterskin, which Eragon took gratefully, drinking and returning the skin. "The elves have taught me much on knowing when to hold my tongue, however, twisting the pure language to tell half truths always left a bitter taste in my mouth. I am grateful that my companions can forgive me my transgressions in this sense. I believe we are coming to understand the other better every day." Blodgharm took the waterskin back, slinging it over his shoulder. "As much as I appreciate our conversations, Shur'tugal, I fear I have delayed you long enough. You have guests waiting in your mirror." Eragon's eyes widened. "Then I must go in haste, my friend. It must be of importance, for one to wait as they are." Eragon turned and started striding towards the keep, the elf keeping pace easily beside him. The pair made quick time, Eragon's bare feet noiseless upon the stone. Eragon muttered the pass phrase under his breath, slowing down as he approached. He quickly turned into the room, noticing faintly that Blodgharm stayed outside. The rider strode around the desk, taking his seat before he looked up into the mirror.

Eragon had to work to hold his surprise, clamping his jaw shut. He quickly touched his fingers over his mouth, murmuring the opening lines of the traditional greeting. Once she responded, Eragon mustered his fortitude. "Arya Drottning, what a pleasant surprise. I hope you are in good health." Of all the people he had expected, or even been in contact with in the last years, she had not been one of them. He felt Saphira ease into his mind as he struggled with the mess of feelings in his mind. He consciously avoided looking into her eyes, vividly remembering the bright green hue that haunted his mind at the most inopportune moments. He instead focused on her cheekbones, right below her eyes, fighting a mental battle to keep his eyes from hers. She had always had a way to understand his entire being and unravel it with a single stare. Her voice was formal when she responded, yet no formality could cover her lilting tone. "Shur'tugal, Your package was well received under the pines. This seemed a more prudent response than waiting weeks for a messenger." Eragon nodded sharply, gaining control of his emotions, tamping the bitterness down inside, to be dealt with at a later time. "Indeed, Drottning. Your swift response is much appreciated. You honor us." Eragon could feel her eyes searching his for answers he didn't have. Instead he continued on his line of thought. "Have you been able to track down my brother?" Her response was quick and full of reproach. "He is your half brother, Argetlam." Eragon bit back his retort, instead replying with a placid tone, finally meeting her eyes with his full gaze. "Half or full, Murtagh is my brother, for ill or well. Fate has his hands entwined in our lives. Our past doesn't have to decide our future. It is not the way of the riders now. We have learned from our mistakes."

Perhaps meeting her gaze had not been the best of decisions, despite the pride he felt from Saphira for drawing a line. Neither seemed to be able to look away. Her anger was evident in her eyes, but despite what she may have thought, Eragon was not angry. He merely assumed his role as a rider. The difference, he supposed, was that she had never been on the receiving end of it. In previous years, she had been a reliable companion, a vicious warrior, and a good friend. She had stood beside him when others had received the same treatment. She finally looked away from his eyes. "You have changed in your absence." He thought he heard anger in her tone, but he chose to ignore it. "Life is change. We must live or die. I have much to accomplish, so change is my only option." She met his eyes once more. The silence stretched between them, tension straining both of them. "I can't decide wether you have become wise or foolish." Eragon finally smiled. "Bladgen once told me that Father and son were much alike, both blind as bats." Eragon finally saw the cynical amusement in her eyes he had become used to. "Bladgen is either wise or foolish, as well." She paused, collecting her thoughts, before meeting his gaze. "Murtagh has been spotted in the northern woods, but spends much of his time further north. He avoids us, as we do him, though already my people sing praises of Thorn Flamescales and his beauty. We will fly north and find him, and deliver to him your message and token." Eragon smiled at her. "I thank you. I would ask that you try your best to not provoke him." She gave him a sharp nod. "Any specific message you would like me to deliver?" Eragon looked at the bookshelves around him, seeing nothing, as his thoughts raced. Finally, Eragon met her eyes again. "Tell him his family misses him." With that, Eragon tore himself from the mirror, striding out of the study.

Eragon made several stops on the way out of the keep, informing his dwarven tutor and Blodgharm that he would not be present for lessons today. The keep was feeling as a prison in this hour, his inner turmoil fighting to escape the iron clad prison he currently held it in. As soon his feet hit the grass of the front keep, he tore into the wilderness, getting as lost there as his mind was in his emotions. He felt more than saw Saphira gliding on the currents above him, leaving him to his mental battle, offering silent nudges away from the darker emotions. For hours the rider travelled through the forests of his new home, trying to sort through the bitterness in his heart, the confusion, the feeling of isolation. The weight of his responsibilities seemed unbearable in this moment.

He had thought that he had put to bed his feelings for the elf. Perhaps he had just distracted himself by the endless labor he subjected himself to. After the first year, the dreams had faded, as he occupied more and more of his time with various duties and studies. He shook his head, stopping at the edge of a clearing he didn't recognize.

Suddenly Eragon felt the shakiness of his limbs, and carefully lowered himself to the grass. Regaining full awareness of his surroundings, he realized the sun had long set. Laying back into the grass, he closed his eyes, stretching his mind out around himself. His reach had grown immensely, at the edge of his range he could feel what he eventually realized was Hedarth. After some time of meditation, Eragon found peace returning to his heart, his worries and harsh feelings putting themselves back to where they belonged. His breathing evened out, and after some time, he came to the realization he had been avoiding.

He had told her once, and meant it. Passing time had only cemented it within him. His feelings wouldn't change. He hadn't forgotten his feelings for her, merely placed them aside. But, he decided, he wouldn't let them affect him to such an extent. It was time to accept them. To pretend they didn't exist had allowed him to be caught off guard. He must act as his position dictated, and he had shown weakness. Eragon wrestled with his acceptance until, as the sun rose, he found complete peace. When Arya Drottning contacted him to inform him of her delivery to Murtagh, he would not hide his eyes like a coward. Just as she had, he would put his duty before his happiness, but he would not lock away the pursuit itself. He would not turn his heart to stone to do his duty. Though Vrael's heart had led to his downfall, Eragon found no fault with his predecessor. It seemed to be a trait they shared. What was life if you didn't enjoy the small moments? Eragon stood, smiling to himself. He could feel Saphira's approval from the distance.

Feeling mentally refreshed, Eragon began the trek home. When the sun began to set once more, however, he realized he had made it further in his aimless wandering than he had anticipated. It was nearing morning again before the keep came into view, lit up magnificently in the dark hours before dawn. Preventing himself from making too much noise, he took the kitchen entrance, walking silently down the corridor to his study. Upon gaining entrance, he was surprised to see that it was occupied already. Blodgharm sat in what Eragon now considered his usual chair, watching the flames dance in the fireplace, an unopened bottle of liquor sitting beside two clean wooden cups. Blodgharm didn't bother to look up from the fire. "Welcome home, my friend." Relief was evident in his voice. Eragon smiled, a genuine smile, walking over to his desk, pulling from the bottom drawer a bottle his cousin had sent him. He took his seat beside Blodgharm, pouring them both a drink. Blodgharm took the glass of brown liquor, smelling it suspiciously, before he drank it. The elf immediately began hacking, looking over at Eragon as though he had tried to poison him. Eragon simply laughed, before drinking his glass in one gulp, immediately pouring himself another, and promptly drinking it as well. He poured a third drink, but didn't drink it yet, letting the burn in his throat ease the aches in his muscles. He slumped back in his chair, watching lazily as Blodgharm inspected his second cupful of whiskey. "You could have warned me, you know." Eragon smiled at the indignant tone. "Just carrying on a tradition, friend." Blodgharm looked at him with curiosity in his yellow eyes, until he elaborated. "When Brom and I left Carvahall, we roomed in a seedy tavern in Dras Leona. Brom bought a bottle of whiskey and did the same thing to me. It seemed only fair to pass it to you." Blodgharm didn't respond immediately, and when he did, it wasn't what he expected. "You don't speak much of him but in passing. Really, you don't speak much of your time before Ellesmera. Why?" Eragon paused, thinking. " I guess it doesn't really seem to matter. Brom was a great man, rough around the edges and blunt, but that is what I appreciated about him. I know nothing of how he was before he lost his Saphira, but from what I could glean from Oromis, we were very similar. I'm sure the tragedy shaped his rough exterior. He was an excellent swordsman, and extremely clever. Never outright combative, but more than capable of finishing what someone else started. I admire him greatly." Eragon drank his third cup, filling his cup again. It was silent again as the pair sipped their drinks. Finally, Blodgharm finally spoke up.

"I feel I owe you an apology, Eragon. I should have warned you who was waiting in the mirror." Eragon waved away his apology, replying. "It is no fault of yours. I was taken by surprise is all. We have lived out here for almost a decade, and never has she reached out to us. How were you to know it would affect me so?"

"My apology stands, friend. I knew during the campaign that you had grown close to her, but you had never expressed it since Firnen pulled her from the ship. I assumed your feelings had faded. It was wrong of me to assume you capable of such a human trait." Eragon drank his glass dry again. "If it makes you feel better, she was just as apt to assume that fleeting attention was in my nature as well." Eragon was at peace with his decision, but he couldn't withhold a note of bitterness from his voice. "Time will make it right, Eragon."

"Fate has separated us, my friend. We both chose duty over happiness, and she was still unsure of her feelings for me. It is for naught now." It was quiet for but a few minutes. "She chose wrong." Eragon looked over so fast he thought he might break his neck. Blodgharm didn't look away, meeting his eyes dead on, certainty in his gaze. Eragon was speechless. "I didn't expect that from you, Blodgharm. It's not that I don't agree, but I assumed you would support her as one of her subjects." Blodgharm snorted. "I swore my life to protect you. Until we both fade away into the millenniums to pass, my oath still stands. I owe my allegiance to none but you. You have been naught but fair and honest with me, and have earned my loyalty fairly. You expect nothing from me, but give me all I could ask for." Eragon, for the first time in many years, lacked words. Instead, he raised his glass to the elf. "To friendship." Blodgharm wasted no time in raising his own glass. They slumped into silence for a while, eventually talking of other matters in passing. Eragon, for the first time in a while, felt true comraderie with another. When they drifted again into silence, Eragon looked up at the window, the sun shining into the once dark room. "We have delayed for too long, my friend. It is time to send two eggs to Alagaesia. We are ready." Blodgharm simply nodded. "I shall gather the others for midday meal. We can discuss it then." Eragon nodded his acceptance. "I am going to fly with my partner for a time. We have been apart too long these past few days." He gained his feet, stumbling slightly as he left the study for the courtyard, where Saphira waited in all her glory. He stared at her, admiring the patterns in her scales, getting lost in them, until;

"Are you sober enough to get up here or shall you ride in a claw?" Eragon simply grinned, taking a running start, landing in between the two spikes where his saddle normally sat, just as she launched herself into the air, a magnificent roar filling the air.

———————

Hello All!! I am curious what you think of this chapter. I found it difficult to write, but I think it is a good start. Let me know what you think! Thanks!


	4. Setting Foundations

The doors of the keep were propped open, allowing a cross breeze to pull some of the sweltering heat from the stone fortress. Eragon sat at the head of the table, the rest of the keep's inhabitants seated down both sides of the table. Dwarves and elves alike broke bread together, a small repast of cheese and bread, washed down with clear river water. The usual repast was tempered with Eragon's seriousness, as much as he tried to put it to the side. Once all plates were cleared, Eragon cleared his throat. Silence had fallen in the great hall before Eragon had finished his water. Looking at Blodgharm, who simply stared at him, Eragon stood, pulling from the pile of papers beside him a map of Alegaesia. "My friends, each and every one of you, you have dedicated no small portion of your life to a cause that is rightfully mine and mine alone. For what you have sacrificed and for what you have achieved, you have my eternal thanks. I know each and every one of you by name. Many of us stood shoulder to shoulder fighting a war that should have never come about to begin with. The work we are doing here is to ensure such a thing shall never come to be again." Eragon paused, looking around, and saw nothing but friendship and camaraderie looking back to him. "After conferring with the Eldunari, we have decided that the time to send eggs back home has come at last. We have stagnated as long as we can with the making of plans and ensuring there are precautions in place. If any of you have the desire to return home, you may do so of your own free will. The route we have planned for the egg couriers is upon this map." Eragon stopped there, stretching the map out flat on the table. He looked up, seeing none of his companions moving to leave immediately, he smiled. "You all have my thanks for the help you give." He pointed at the border of Alegaesia, drawing a line in red with his finger using magic. "We shall pick four dwarves and four elves to escort the eggs through the land. I wish for the eggs to begin their journey to Farthen Dur, circling through the Beors to Surda, up through the western cities, and turn to the forest of Du Weldenvarden only after Carvahall has been reached. Allow a week in each city, moving on afterwards. If an egg hatches, the hatchling and rider must be guarded where they are until I come to retrieve them." Blodgharm looked up at him sharply, but Eragon forestalled his protests quickly. "My job is to ensure the safety of Riders, and I am incapable of that whilst in exile. You, Blodgharm, are more than capable of protecting the keep in my absence, and my responsibilities will require me to be there. Besides, Saphira will not let the last bastion of the riders to fall so easily." Blodgharm leaned back, his lips pursed, but he did not open his mouth. Eragon continued. "If one egg is to hatch, two elves and two dwarves will stay to guard the bonded pair, while the others will continue with the other egg." Eragon looked up sharply. "Are we aware of the plan in its fullness?" Nods surrounded the table, all but Blodgharm, that is. Eragon nodded. "Good. Let us break for the day. I will send for the eight I have chosen for this weighty task later this evening. To the rest of you, I will leave the safety of our home in your hands. Your task is of the same weight of those traveling with our most valuable treasures. For if the keep falls, so does our hope for the future." Eragon bowed his head in respect before he strode off to his study. Behind him, he heard the soft steps of Blodgharm. Eragon did not stop until he sat in his usual chair by the fire. Blodgharm, however, did not sit. He stood broodingly in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. After several tense minutes passed, the elf finally spit out a one word question.

"Why?" Eragon snorted. "You know why, you just don't like it." Eragon shifted forward in his chair. "I am the only member of a new order. My brother remains among the borders of his old home, unwilling to devote himself to a cause he has been poisoned against. Arya chose her birthright over her fate given duty. I am all there is, and in my old home, already I fade into legend. If a dragon hatches for a dwarf, they will be in danger from that moment on. If a dragon hatches for an urgal, they too, will be hunted by humans, expecting the worst from what they consider beasts. Nasuada will try to win the loyalty of any human rider, and I know not if Arya Drottning will surrender any elven rider to me for training. Or if her council would allow such a thing." Eragon regained his feet, pacing his study. "While I know the elves are more than capable of protecting my charges, they are my responsibility. The faster they are under my wing, the faster I can deliver them from the demands of Alegaesian politics. I have no other rider to send, Blodgharm. The others have ignored the callings life handed them. I was never given such a choice. Until such a day comes that I can send another rider, the responsibility falls solely on me." Eragon stopped and turned towards Blodgharm. "This also means that the protection of the keep falls to you, my closest friend and advisor. Between you and Saphira, you will not fail." Eragon slumped down into his seat once more, defeated. Blodgharm slid into his own seat. "You've been planning this for months." Blodgharm accused. Eragon simply nodded. "Saphira and I have discussed it at length. While we prefer not to be parted, we were aware it would likely be the only possibility for this circumstance. We have made our peace." Blodgharm sat in silence for some time, but Eragon could feel his acceptance.

"Arya should be here." Eragon smiled at the elf. "If she were, things would be easier. Truth be told however, I am losing hope that either rider will come around. Fate has saddled this burden solely on my shoulders." Blodgharm reached over and opened the bottle that sat between them, drinking directly from the bottle, passing it to Eragon afterwards. "Our shoulders. They are strong enough, are they not?" The human traits and cadence the wolf elf had picked up from being around him struck him at the oddest of times. If not for the unusual fur and pointed ears, he could be a northern human, with Eragon's adopted mannerisms. It had happened slowly, at least to Eragon it seemed so. But the elf seemed to revel in the freedom of living with him. He was a constant companion that Eragon had grown fond of.

"I suppose they must be, my friend." Eragon took a long pull from the bottle, passing it back to the elf. A comfortable aura replaced the angry one that had previously filled the room, and Eragon turned to look at the elf. "Saphira has only ever allowed one other person on her back alone before. However, in my absence, I request you keep her company. She gets bored with no one to talk to. If she ever permits you to ride her, I encourage you to do so willingly. It is a thrill unsurpassable." Eragon stood, walking towards the door, stopping before he left completely. "Pick the eight best suited to the task we have set, and give them their orders. I am going to sleep. I have spent too many days awake and away from my project, and plan to remedy that."

As he walked down the hall, he felt Saphira merge her mind closer to his. "I do not get bored in your absence!" The indignation he felt made him grin. "You forget, Fireheart, I felt your memories of my absence while I was in Farthen Dur. Your boredom stretched long, and I will be gone longer this time." She huffed in his mind. "I am surrounded by dragons left and right. Boredom will not be my enemy this time." Eragon grimaced. "Dragons they are, but bodies they do not have. I know your thoughts intimately, love. You long for solid company. Flying partners, hunting partners." Eragon paused. "Will you take a wild egg out to hatch? The time seems ripe. You will have time to raise the hatchling while I am training our newest riders."

He felt her agreement in his mind. "We have tarried too long as it is, little one. It is time to bring back the mightiest of the races." Eragon simply nudged her mind with love. "No longer shall we have to pine for the others. We will bring about our own family here. We do not need their help." He felt her agreement. Eragon finally reached his room, opening the door.

He kept nothing special here. There was a huge indent in the floor, big enough for three of Saphira, and a bed in the far corner, unused since they had brought it in. A cabinet stood in the corner left of the bed, which held his clothes, and a half filled journal, bound in hand cured leather. It matched the others on the bookcase in the study. These books were his, written in his hand. Some were journal entries, some poems or songs, some observations or theories he had concocted but yet researched. He found that writing it down cleared his mind and let him sleep easy. Among these pages, also lay some of his more vibrant dreams. The ones that felt like premonitions. He knew now that nothing rushed time except time itself, and worrying did naught but trouble himself. So he wrote it down, and put it away.

Eragon undressed and cleaned his clothes with magic, along with himself. A proper bath he would have in the morning, after laying the foundation. He smiled to himself, sliding into some cotton pants with short legs, and settling in the indent in the floor, waiting patiently for his life partner to come swooping through the magic wall, to keep him company.

Eragon fell to his waking dreams before Saphira returned from hunting. He woke in the morning feeling revitalized, the tip of a blue scaly tail draped over his chest. Eragon smiled, sliding from beneath Saphira's weighty tail, and gathering his rough working clothes from the cabinet. Quickly changing, he left the room, knowing Saphira would sleep for some hours more. Once Eragon reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find Blodgharm there waiting with a cup of tea in his hand. Eragon took it gratefully, sipping the still hot tea while making his way out to the dark morning. The elf followed him in silence, sitting beside him on the bottom step of the kitchen entrance. "I would accompany you this morning, if it is no trouble, Eragon." Eragon simply nodded, finishing his tea. He set his cup on the step he sat on, gaining his feet and striding along the path his own bare feet had worn in the grass. The silence between elf and human was comfortable, and neither broke the silence until they reached the top of the hill. Eragon still said nothing, but started moving rocks down into the trench he had dug. To his continued surprise, Blodgharm also started to move rocks by hand, starting at the opposite corner of the house, the pair worked without stopping until the sun began to peak above the horizon.

Eragon dropped the rocks in his hands, gasping as he climbed out of the trench. He reached the tree where he hung his tools, and grabbed his water skin, taking large pulls from it. Blodgharm had climbed from the trench as well, and while it was not as obvious that he was winded, Eragon could tell he had exerted himself. Eragon passed him the water skin, letting the elf quench his thirst. The pair sat on the significantly smaller pile of rocks, catching their breath as they watched the sun rise. Blodgharm leaned back, stretching his legs out, relaxing back against the rest of the stones. The pair had near finished filling the trench, only lacking half of the left side. Once it was filled, they would mound it over by about a half foot. "I know the stones are to prevent the house from sinking, Eragon, but how are they going to be stable enough to build upon?" Eragon smiled. "I have thought long on the matter. The manual way, would have been to haul clay from the riverbed along with silt, and stack the stones with it in between. Once it had dried, it would have been solid enough to build upon." He paused.

"But this foundation must be able to sleep a dragon for years to come. The clay wouldn't withstand her weight for long. Instead, we shall melt the rock with my magic." Blodgharm looked at him in surprise. Eragon simply waved away the question before he asked. "It would be impossible for me to melt the rock by normal means, and to do so it would have to be poured after it was heated. Nay, it is more practical to use magic in this instance." Eragon smiled once more. "Never fear my friend, we still have many days of work ahead of us, before we are done." Blodgharm simply nodded, looking as though his mind was elsewhere. It was quiet for a while, and once the pair were rested, they started where they left off. The pair stayed out later than Eragon normally would have, but by the time they were headed towards the river to bathe, the trench was full and mounded. The pair separated once they hit the water, Eragon going upstream, before bathing and meeting the elf back at the foundation. The pair leisurely began the walk home, the sun showing it to be around noon. The small path that Eragon had worn became more apparent day by day. Blodgharm finally spoke up. "Why do you think that your half brother does not come here?" Eragon snorted. "Galbotorix left a lasting impression upon him in that aspect. Murtagh believes the old order was lazy and corrupt. While that belief festers in his mind, he will not support this endeavor of mine." Eragon continued after a moment. "While we are but half blood, I consider Murtagh to be my full brother. We have weathered much together."

Blodgharm frowned. "Whether the old order was as he says or not, this is not the old order. The only laws you upkeep here are the ones written by your namesake. The other bylaws you have not put in effect." Blodgharm paused. "It seems to me that in order to prevent such a thing from coming about, he should be here, with his hand in the mix. He has the opportunity to mold the clay from the beginning." Eragon looked at the elf with newfound respect.

"I'm starting to believe that I sent the wrong elf to find my brother, Blodgharm. Your wisdom runs deep." Blodgharm grinned, a very human like gesture on a very wolflike face. "Why thank you, Eragon. I have been reading philosophy of late."

Eragon just smiled. "So you requested the queen to find your brother?" Eragon nodded. "I sent her a token that would lead her this way, along with another to be given to Murtagh. Though I find myself worried, honestly. I have not heard back from her yet. I assumed that she would let me know she delivered it to him at least." Blodgharm simply nodded, his eyebrows shaped in a sharp V.

"Be patient, Rider. She will reach out." Eragon snorted. "My brother has a way of sparking wildfires in the ocean, I fear. I requested her to not provoke him, maybe I should have cautioned patience on her part instead." Eragon shrugged. "Fate will out, as they say in the north." Blodgharm simply chuckled.

———————

Another chapter up, to be read at your leisure, friends! I appreciate all the people who have followed the story, and truly appreciate the reviews I have received. I try to update every Monday night, and I try to stay a few chapters ahead. Let me know what you think!


	5. Breaking Bread

Questions of fate and purpose had swirled in his head for years, but Murtagh has lived as such for so long now it was only background noise, akin to the wind blowing past his ears. He sat upon Thorn's back, miles from the forest below, watching the soft wind wave the pine branches. They had spent weeks further north, where the mountains were carved of black stone and the grass was perpetually brown. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for, maybe he wasn't looking for anything. Maybe what he was looking for couldn't be found by traveling. It mattered not, he supposed. He had nothing else to do besides live his life, and fate deemed to leave him here.

When they had found nothing of interest, and Thorn had grown bored of hunting the leaner creatures that made the north their home, They had turned back towards the south, headed to what they considered home. Three leagues north of the great forest was a large valley, and directly in the center was a flat topped knoll. From the top they could see in all directions even past the valley. Upon the top of this hill they had built a house, with three solid walls and one open to the world, to provide Thorn access. Magic protected them from the elements. In front of the house was a fire pit, where Murtagh spent most of his hours. He sat up in the saddle, knowing they had to be getting close to home. It took another hour, perhaps, before the valley came into his view, but as it did, he felt Thorn's muscles tighten below him, as he dipped a wing, turning as swiftly as possible, flapping his wings to gain speed. "Thorn! What are you doing?!" He flew for a little longer, before responding. "Our home is occupied." Murtagh was still confused. "So? What do we have to fear? None can match us." Murtagh was not bragging. He knew that only Eragon could match the pair of them. An elf could surely take him alone, if Thorn wasn't present, but the elves had left them in peace, only watching from a distance. After some time, he had found their watchful presence a comfort. More than once had Murtagh woke to find a wine skin or food, and occasionally clothes at the bottom of the hill. Thorn sent him what he had seen, what Murtagh's eyes were to weak to see. Murtagh's eyes widened. An elf sat beside a fire roaring. A cooking pot above that he didn't recognize as his. A circlet sat upon her brow, but what shocked him more than anything was the shimmering green dragon the elf leaned against. Murtagh said nothing, thinking and letting Thorn fly. When it became apparent the rider had not followed them, Murtagh made a decision.

"Turn around, Thorn. I fear our guests aren't just using our shelter on a whim. They are waiting for us." For a moment, Thorn continued on, before he dipped his left wing, turning slowly this time. They flew home at a slower pace, this time, preparing for any situation they could think of. Eventually, they came close enough that Murtagh was able to make out what thorn had shown him with his own eyes. As Thorn touched down and he dismounted, Thorn lay down opposite the green dragon, ready to pounce at a moments notice. Deciding that if the elf wanted him dead, he would likely be so already, Murtagh unbuckled his sword from his side, leaning his back against Thorn as he lay the plain sword across his lap. The elf finally drew her eyes from the fire, emerald drilling into his dark eyes, giving away no emotions. Murtagh finally spoke up, tired from weeks on the road, and ready to be done with the situation. This elf's scrutiny gave him none of the comfort his watchers did. "I hope you have found my accommodations to be up to standard." Sarcasm dropped from his voice, yet the elf still said nothing. Not inciting a response, Murtagh instead studied her intently, she seemed rather familiar...

Finally it came to him. "You are Arya." Surprisingly enough, that drew a response. "From where do you recognize me, Shur'tugal? Galbatorix's throne room?" Murtagh snorted, laughing out loud. "I know you from before then, elf. I watched my brother dribble water between your lips in the desert, and I watched Saphira Brightscales as she flew with you strapped to her belly. Eragon and I slaughtered a band of slavers on our way to Farthen Dur to prevent you falling back into the Kings grasp. We rode day and night to outrun a band of Kull to the Varden so that you could be given Turnivor's Nectar. I watched from a distance as you fought alongside my brother against an army of Urgals. I saw my brother laid on a bed with a scar that matched mine, for being foolish enough to fight a shade." Murtagh paused. "I thank you for saving his life. I watched as the pair of you brought down the greatest tyrant in a millennium. I know you of old, Arya."

Surprise was in her eyes, perhaps a tinge of grudging respect within them. Silence reigned upon the hilltop. "He is only your half brother." Murtagh gave a half smile, shrugging. "I know. It doesn't seem to matter. Fate has our lives entwined, playing our parts of puppets." She looked at him sharply, recognizing the similarities in the phrase. "I did not want to come to see you." Murtagh smiled. "So my brother has sent you." She nodded. "He requested I pass a message to you." Murtagh ignored her last answer. He lay his sword to the side, leaning forward towards her, a strange hunger entering his voice. "How is he? I have not heard of his presence in a decade. Where did he go?" She simply stared at him. Murtagh grew impatient. "The two of you are very similar." Murtagh snorted. "We have similar fighting styles, and the similarities end there. We are too different, our pasts too different to see eye to eye. Fate pitted us as enemies. Could you break bread with your enemies?" Arya stared at him for a long time, before she reached over into a bag and brought out two bowls, tossing him one. "I did cook. I guess there is only one way to find out." The elf stood, ladling soup from the pot by the fire, before retaking her seat. From behind her, Murtagh heard the sound of boulders falling down a slope together, which he quickly recognized as laughter. Smiling slightly, he stood, ladling out his own bowl. The strange pair ate in silence, both in deep thought. The elf was not what he recalled, he thought. Once they had both cleared their bowls, Murtagh brought out his pipe, lighting it with a muttered spell. Once it was lit correctly, he exhaled the smoke, looking back over at the elf. "How is he?" She was silent again, for so long Murtagh had almost given up on an answer, until he heard her speak softly. "I don't know, truly. I have spoken with him only once, and that was two weeks ago. It is my fault, in honesty. I have rarely left the forest, and when I do, I haven't been able to bring myself to reach out to him." Arya clamped her jaw shut, saying no more, nothing visible on her stoic face.

Murtagh drew on the pipe slowly, exhaling again. "What changed?" She glared at him. "He sent me a message through his cousin, requesting I speak with you. I disapproved, and in my anger, I left the forest to scry him." She paused. "Yet you came here anyways?" She met his eyes squarely. "Your brother has changed. I know not whether for better or worse, but he has changed. He berated me for being judgemental and foolish, and promptly reiterated his desire that I speak to you." Murtagh was surprised. "Then he truly has changed. Last I remembered, he adored you to the extent that he couldn't bear to disagree with you. He used to be rather soft hearted, as I remember." He drew on his pipe again, stretching his feet before him, towards the dying fire. Some time passed, and Murtagh was beginning to doze softly, when he heard her speak softly.

"I fear you are right. Perhaps his feelings have changed. I still don't know how to take that information, though." Murtagh opened his eyes, looking towards her. "Life is change, Arya. But change isn't always what it seems." Words faded into the wind, and Murtagh noted with surprise that Thorn had fallen into a slumber. The crickets chirped softly in the background, and the dying fire occasionally popped. By the time he had finished burning the last of his cardus weed, his eyes were heavy. When he looked up from the fire, he saw the elf still staring at him. He simply stared back, waiting on her to break contact.

She never did look away, so he decided to indulge himself in something he normally ignored; his curiosity. "When did he hatch?" The question seemed to bring out a bit of tenderness in her normally cold exterior. "The elves left Uru'baen days after the pretender's fall. I took the egg with me. The journey was a time of grief, but as we entered the forest, the egg in my lap began to rock. Within the hour, Firnen hatched for me. He has brought me much joy in a life where there was little before. And just as much joy to my people." Murtagh nodded. "I am glad that he hatched after the war. A child of peace is always a blessing. Did Eragon think he would hatch for an elf? It strikes me as strange that he would send it away so soon." A knowing look appeared on her face. "I wouldn't know. I did not ask." Murtagh grinned in response. "So there is a true rebel in there." The look she gave him was rather murderous, he thought. "He handed it to me when he went after you, and I left before he could retrieve it from me. It was an act of circumstance." Murtagh nodded, still grinning. My brother must truly love you to withstand such murderous looks all the time and still adore you as he does." She looked at him with exasperation.

"I just told you we have not spoken in nigh on a decade. He spoke differently than he used to towards me. His feelings no longer run so deep. Humans change with the wind after all." Murtagh couldn't keep from grinning. She continued to look at him, anger in her eyes. "You don't know my brother as well as I do. He takes up impossible tasks and unnecessary burdens, and sees them through to the bitter end, killing himself in the process. He is stubborn as a mule, and kind as the wind on a hot day. He is night and day, hot and cold, a mountain and a valley all in one. He is dwarven, elven, human, and urgal by feats and friendship." He paused. "He is also loyal to a fault, even when you are on opposite sides of a war. Don't think that time and silence are enough to deter himself from wanting you." Arya slumped back looking defeated in a way. "You fought Eragon numerous times at every turn, and still have more faith in him than I did." She corrected herself. "Than I do, that is. I don't know what I feel for him, but I know ..." She paused this time, thinking. "It is not to be, alas. For he has his duties and I have mine." She lightly tapped her circlet. Murtagh started. "You took the elven throne?" She nodded sharply. "It was my birthright." Murtagh was quiet for a time. "You chose to not be a rider?" She looked at him strangely. "Of course I am a rider." Murtagh shook his head. "Galbatorix gave me free reign of the library. His personal library. In that library was a book, old beyond belief. Written on those pages, by the first Eragon, were the laws of the riders. When you accept the order as your calling, king or peasant, you were stripped of titles, properties, everything. You can be bonded, and you can be a queen, but you cannot call yourself a Rider if you are a queen." Arya shook her head vehemently. "The old order is dead. There will be new standards with the new order." Murtagh snorted.

"Yes, we are doing a great job. One of us is a queen, one an outcast, and one of us a self exiled hero." Murtagh threw his arms wide. "Look around, elf. You sit among a timeless race that never changes, and I waste years of my life living as a hermit." Murtagh sighed. "The only Rider in the land is forced to rebuild an ancient civilization with his own hands. I have been ashamed of myself since the twins took me to Uru'baen. I am used to the feeling. But do not sit across from me and say you made the right choice. Don't logic away your shame. We are both failing him, me as a brother, and you as... whatever you are to him." Murtagh stood, leaving his sword on the ground. "This new order you wish for, it has failed before it has begun."

Arya stood as well, her right hand grasping the hilt of her sword so hard her knuckles were clearly visible through the thin skin. "Eragon failed to mention that you were capable of being so obstinate." Murtagh snorted, walking over to the stack of firewood beside the house. "Let me save him the trouble. I'm stubborn as a mule, and honest as a true name." He grabbed some logs throwing them in the fire. "Angry as you are, you know I speak the truth. Your people wanted you to be queen so as to make a claim of control over the Riders. Even if they did not do it for such reasons, they have kept you from fulfilling your true duty. This duty chose you. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will understand what Firnen chose you for." She stood silently for a time, but Murtagh was impatient.

"What did you come here for? What did my brother need so badly that he sent you from your throne?" And suddenly, Arya's sword was at his throat. Murtagh refrained from taking a step back, though the desire was strong. "Eragon has no command of me, human. I did what I have done because he asked me to, out of courtesy if you will. But I am out of patience." She let the tip of her sword leave his neck, slipping it back into her sheath. She reached into the pouch at her waist, and tossed an emblem towards him. It glinted in the firelight, revealing the form of a dragon curled up, obviously made of gold. Murtagh caught it, snatching it out of air faster than even Arya's eyes could see. She revealed no surprise, simply turning and packing the few belongings she had back into her pack, attaching it to Firnen's saddle. She did not turn back to him, but Arya's voice rang through the air one more time. This time, the bitterness was heavy in her tone. "I have not seen your half brother in a decade. When I finally got the chance to see him on a mirror, he couldn't meet my eyes. When I asked him if he had anything else that he wanted you to know, he said this; "Tell him his family misses him. He said nothing of me, nothing of us." Murtagh did not respond. And within seconds, Arya Shadeslayer and Firnen Clawbranch were gone. Murtagh turned, curling up beside Thorn, watching the fire and waiting for sleep that he knew would not come this night.

————————

This chapter was kind of fun to write, and I think it's all coming together. Let me know what you think.


	6. A Queen’s Introspection

If bitterness was a smell, Arya thought to herself, she would reek right now. She and Firnen had not flown far before she had him land. She had forced herself to go through the motions, lighting a fire, and warding the clearing they had landed in. She did not go to the northern outpost, too perturbed by her turmoil to go through the motions of courtesy her rank required. Instead they had flown past them by leagues before landing. It seemed the brothers...no, half brothers were more alike than they thought. She berated the slip, even if it were only in her mind. Eragon could have warned her of his obstinance. It was almost more frustrating than Eragon's blasted curiosity, she thought to herself. She took deep steadying breaths, trying to calm her mind and find some peace. Firnen, surprisingly, was silent in her mind, having withdrawn behind his barriers to think alone. Despite being bonded too deeply to not feel him, she had never felt so alone. She felt his own turmoil, but he would not let her in. She frowned in frustration. The fact that it was Murtagh who brought such frustration upon her made her even more angry. How could a mere human be so...Arya released her pent up breath, letting the thought hold. Why was she so angry? She thought on it for almost an hour before an answer presented itself. Was Murtagh right? She, while knowledgeable as most of her race was, never took it upon herself to read upon the Rider's edicts. Not even the baselines laid down by Eragon's own quill. She berated herself. It mattered not. The decision had been made. Whether she knew exactly what she had given up by doing so was a moot point. Never before had a monarch abdicated the throne. They ruled until death, or until forced into exile by the elders. Part of her mind settled back into her iron mental prison, beaten by her strength of will.

Arya decided, however, that when she returned to Ellesmera, she would seek out these tomes. She had to know for certain. Is that why no elves addressed her as Shur'tugal? She had assumed it was because her station was addressed primarily, but Riders were below none. Had she fallen into such a trap within months of freeing the country? Was it truly a ploy to have some form of control over the fate of the Riders? Arya snorted. If so, the council had not been knowledgeable either. Or perhaps they had been counting on Eragon to start from scratch, throwing away all of the old laws. She shook her head. Once again, it did not matter. She had swallowed the bait, if it truly were a trap. She was enthroned over a timeless race that truly needed no governing. All she had gained, she realized with morbid fascination, was yet another prison. Her mind was silent for a time. She leaned back against Firnen's side, feeling defeated for the first time in a decade. Sleep would not come, she knew, until she had found a semblance of peace, but it seemed as far out of reach as the stars in the sky, shining in its beauty, yet untouchable with her hands. She stared at the sky through the smoke of her campfire, drowning in the depths of her mind, as the hours drifted by.

———————

When daylight was but an hour away, Arya tamped our what was left of her fire, packing her belongings back into Firnen's saddle. Scratching the scales below his jaw, she coaxed him awake, as his mind was still closed to her. "We must go, Firnen." He did not acknowledge her with his mind, but blinked an eye at her, taking his feet, waiting on her to climb upon his back. She frowned, worrying over her life partner. Nevertheless, she jumped upon his back, tying her legs to the saddle. Firnen jumped into the air, slowly climbing into the sky, circling upon an updraft. Arya closed her eyes, feeling the wind buffet her clothes and face. When she managed to open her eyes again, she looked down, enjoying the view of the land below her. It took her almost a half our to notice that Firnen was not headed back to Ellesmera, but back north. She whipped her arm down, frustrated. With his mind blocked and at this speed, she could not communicate with him. She felt the anger pulse in her blood, as Firnen headed back to Murtagh's home on the knoll. As they approached, she saw Murtagh still sleeping by Thorn's side. The fire still burning, just not as hot as she had made it the night before. Doing her best to clear her mind, she tried to prepare for whatever would happen when Firnen landed.

It was not what she expected. Murtagh woke as they approached, gaining his feet, but leaving his sword on the ground. Thorn stood as well, not in a threatening way, but simply to prepare for whatever would happen. Firnen landed softly, as soft as a dragon could land that is. For the first time, Firnen opened his mind wide, not just to Arya, but to Thorn and Murtagh as well. They stood for several minutes before Murtagh reluctantly opened his mind. For the first time, Murtagh heard Firnen's voice.

"Nest mate of Eragon, half though you be, you have given me much to think on. I thank you for your introspection. I believe you to be rather wise. Ellesmera is open to you, if you wish to come. Sneaking into a human village to buy supplies does not befit a Rider of your stature." And for the first time in Arya's life, she witnessed something she never thought she would. Firnen lowered his head in respect to Murtagh. He did not wait for a reply, instead launching himself into the air, closing his mind off to all but Arya once more. She sighed in relief at the contact of her life partner, but she felt a deep searing anger in his mind. She left him some distance, letting him soar through the air in peace. She was troubled, for she knew not who Firnen was angry with. They arrived at the Crags of Tel'nair four hours after sunrise, and Firnen's anger still had not abated. Arya took his anger with her typical stoic attitude, removing his saddle and storing it in the hut that a great Rider had once called his home. When she returned to him, however, his gaze struck fear in her heart. His eyes blazed with an unfamiliar hatred. She stumbled on her way towards him, deciding it may be more prudent to keep her distance.

"Arya." That was all he said, but she understood much more that that, and she felt crippling anguish in her heart. He was angry with her. Not with Murtagh, that had been clear, but she had assumed him angry with her situation, and she was right partially. But he was angry with her as well. Arya took an involuntary step back. She felt tears trying to escape, but she held them back, responding with a voice that came out more broken than she meant it to. "Firnen, my Firnen." He growled, which quickly turned to a roar, echoing through the forest.

"All these years we have spent here,you have quelled my unhappiness, telling me this is where we belong. It is a lie!!" Firnen roared again. "And I knew it, deep in my hearts I knew it. I chose you for a purpose, as my parents chose me! And you threw it aside! We have been wasting our time here. Perhaps the human possesses more wisdom than the both of us." Firnen swung his head away swiftly. It was quiet for a time...then...

"We have allowed ourselves to be led astray." His voice was quieter now, full of sadness. Arya took yet another step away from him, feeling an ache deep within her. It was true, she reflected. She had done her best to distract him from his sadness, quoting the demands of duty and station. She realized now, though, that the duty she spoke of was *her* duty, *her* station. Firnen was not bound to such elven intricacies, was not born for it. She had selfishly kept him from what he considered his duty; never had she felt so selfish. She had made these decisions without his say, for he had been too young to understand or voice his opinion. She turned from him, disappointment filling her.

Never before had she considered that her decisions affected him just as much if not more so than her. Her decisions had always ended, badly or well, at her own feet. Despite knowing that Firnen was as intelligent as any elf that roamed beneath the trees, she had not treated him as such. And now her life partner was aware of her disregard. The words slipped out without her realizing.

"I have wronged you, my sweet Firnen, and I know not how to fix it." Once more, Firnen roared, the anger bleeding into a deep sorrow. With a rush of wings, he left her upon the crags, glimmering, what seemed to Arya, in a darker shade of green. She sunk slowly to the ground, her back to the hut behind her, and, in a place that heralded peace for one rider, began to herald heartbreak to another. Tears fell down a stoic face of chiseled marble, and Arya wept for her costly mistake.

Firnen did not return that night, nor did anyone come to check upon the queen. She simply lay against the hut and let the tears roll. "I need guidance." Her voice broke hours of silence. Where could she find guidance? Not in these trees. None would speak to her as was necessary, nor would they, when her station sat so high above theirs. Murtagh had done enough, and she did not wish to seek another confrontation with him. Eragon lay beyond her reach, and she couldn't bring herself to reach for his help. Arya knew that he would urge her to take her true duty up. She was lost, and alone with only her own thoughts. She had once thought herself as capable of making decisions, but now she felt as though she was floundering in a body of water with no shore visible in any direction. What she really needed, she thought, was Firnen. But it would take some time for his anger to dissolve, possibly weeks.

Arya eventually regained her feet, and some of her composure, entering the hut and sitting at the table. The sun was now sinking, the beautiful colors holding her attention for but a few moments, before she reached into the cabinet beside the table, withdrawing a bottle of...something. She unstoppered it, and the warm honey smell of mead reached her. She reached for a cup, but decided against it, drinking directly from the bottle. She had done this once before, with Eragon. They had sat across from each other in his tent, passing the bottle back and forth. She still didn't know why she had went to him of all people. Perhaps it was the suffering they had been through apart made them more similar than she cared to admit. She took another drink, finding the slight buzz in her brain pleasant. Firnen was far beyond her reach by now, she thought. She quickly shifted her brain to other subjects. She would read Eragon's text tomorrow. She had passed it many times in the library, and had foolishly never picked it up. Tomorrow she would remedy that. And then...her thoughts slipped away as she took another drink. And then, she would try to fix things with Firnen. Arya lit a candle at the table and continued to drink, digging out a second bottle as night passed to early morning. Once she could barely put a thought together, she stumbled to the bedroom, where she promptly hit the mattress and passed out.

——————

Arya felt atrocious the next morning. She bathed in the stream and clothed herself, making her way back to Tialdari Hall. By the time she reached the double doors, her headache had mostly faded, but she still felt uneasy. Perhaps it was that she hadn't been without Firnen this long since he hatched. How did Eragon do it?! She gained a new respect for the Rider and the sacrifices he made in his effort to bring down Galbotorix. She stopped for nothing until she reached the library. She found the scroll she was looking for in short order, but she found herself surprised by what sat beside it. Beside the first Eragon's text lay the poem Eragon had written and recited for the Blood Oath Celebration. On a whim, she took it as well, before returning to the Crags.

Hours later, Firnen found Arya sitting outside the hut, a table in front of her with both scrolls upon it. A cup of tea sat at the edge of the table, long forgotten after she had read the texts. She stared off into the sky, contemplating what she had read. Firnen landed beside the hut heavily, jolting her from her reverie. She looked at him. His pride had given him some strength. She knew then that things had changed between them, if only slightly. She still felt his affection for her, but it was jaded now. She hated it, and there was no hiding it from him.

"Murtagh was right." She paused, looking over at Firnen. "I am sorry, Firnen, truly. I have been a fool." Firnen simply blinked.

"I know, Arya. But the true question is what do we do now." Firnen paused, gathering his resolve, she realized. "In seven days, I will leave this prison." She stared at him in shock. "What of my duties I have here? I cannot just leave like that!" Firnen snorted, flames flying over the edge of the Crags. "Imprisoned you may consider yourself, but no elf would dare stop a dragon. Willingly or not, you will come with me. Rather you ride in a saddle or in a claw is completely up to you." Firnen closed his mind off from her, laying with his head facing the ledge.

Arya was speechless. How had one so young outgrown her so fast, she wondered. "And if I refuse?" She asked harshly. Firnen sprang up faster than she believed possible, knocking her from her chair with his left foreleg, pinning her beneath a claw. He opened his mind to her once more.

"We have no peace here, Arya! You are becoming more foolish by the day!" He paused, smoke rolling from his nostrils into her face. "My whole life, I have taken your lead, believing you to know best, but no more! I am no pet, to live beneath my masters tree like a loyal dog. I am a dragon, meant to be free to roam as I please. We have a duty to this land yes, but not to this throne." His voice softened in her head.

"You may not realize it, but you too grow tired of this timeless existence. I feel it while you sleep. Make no mistake, your duty is to me, since I chose you, just as mine is to you. I will continue to fulfill my half, but it is time you accept yours. No other duty matters. None at all." Arya let her head lay back. It seemed the decision was not hers to make anymore. She breathed deep, trying to fight the looming feeling of dread. "Where will we go, then, Firnen? If this is not home, where is?" Firnen removes his claw from her chest, settling back on his hind legs.

"Our home and duty is to the Riders. First we will seek out Murtagh and Thorn, and convince them if need be that it is time to go home." Arya snorted from her place on the ground. "I think you may find that easier said than done. Murtagh wants nothing to do with the new order" Firnen said nothing for a time.

"I doubt I will have to work as hard as you think, my elfling. I believe that Thorn feels the same pull as I do. Murtagh cares for nothing more than Thorn. He will do what makes him happy." Arya felt the bitterness in his voice, directed at her even though he tried to hide it. She felt another pang in her chest. They were silent for hours, and when the sun began to sink, Arya surprised Firnen, going to him and sitting between his forelegs, leaning back on his broad chest of emerald scales. She felt Firnen's mind relax for the first time in days.

—————

I find that Arya is a hard character to write. But I truly love what I believe her character has become with Firnen attached to her. Let me know what you think!!!


	7. Murtagh’s Peace

Murtagh sat at the rough hewn wooden table in his home, staring at Thorn's magnificent hide of scales still curled by the fire. Sleep had evaded him the night before, as he had suspected it would. Thoughts and questions swirled aimlessly in his mind, but for once he did not let them fly unnoticed. He examined them in passing, waiting for them to form something more coherent, waiting on them to form an answer. Murtagh's eyes lowered to the table. There was a wooden cup in his hands, steam rising from the tea within. And sitting in front of his hands lay the token his brother had sent the elf to deliver. He snorted to himself, pushing thoughts of that encounter out of his mind. Elves were capricious, he decided. He should not have let himself speak so freely to her, but something about another rider's company put him at ease. He let his mind follow that thought for a moment, before tucking it away for later examination. Murtagh took another gulp of tea, before picking up the token once more. Instantly, he felt the pull to the southeast. He let it pulse in his mind for a moment more before placing it back down carefully. It was the only thing he had to remind him of his family. He snorted to himself. The only happy thing, anyways. Murtagh felt his gaze drawn to the left of his home, to the lockbox in the corner. Within lay the wine red sword Zar'roc, which he had taken from his brother on an outcropping above the Burning Plains. After almost a month of carrying it, Murtagh felt nothing but disgust at what the sword represented. Eragon had carried it well, Murtagh thought. He had began to change it's fate, but Murtagh had drowned it once more in the blood of the righteous, erasing whatever good had been caused by such a horrid piece of steel. Thus Murtagh had locked it away, out of sight, and most of the time out of mind.

Murtagh drug his mind back to the situation at hand. He had made his opinion on bringing back the Riders very clear to his brother. Murtagh could only blame his mindset on his time with Galbotorix. The man was mad, almost as skilled at using logic to justify doing wrong as the Elven Queen. He smiled to himself. She was not his responsibility to judge, Murtagh supposed. He hoped she would come to see sense in time. He shook his head again. There it was; the draw. Murtagh and Thorn had felt it for years, once a semblance of peace had returned to the pair. A steady draw that tried its best to send him to do what he, fundamentally, felt was wrong. He longed for the comraderie he had once felt with his brother. He longed for Thorn to fly beside other dragons, instead of guarding against them. He wished for everything he was trying to avoid. Maybe his brother wasn't the only walking oxymoron.

Murtagh finished his tea, but made no move to leave the table. Peace, although it did not evade him completely, was a skittish fiend. Perhaps his history of violence made it wary. He had almost had it, once. Memories of a large cell, comfortable by any standard, and soft lush kisses flooded from behind the locked door he kept the memories in. He reveled in them, feeling the peace and contentment he had searched for fill him, and just as suddenly, the memories were shattered by the smell of burning flesh, and harsh feminine screams of pain. Murtagh realized his eyes had closed, and he opened them quickly, shoving the memories back into their cell. He mentally stumbled, and felt Thorn help him, sealing the memories away.

"Thank you, Thorn." Murtagh spoke to him mentally, gaining his feet and going out to join his partner. He leaned on Thorn's side, staring with him into the rapidly approaching sunset. "Thorn?" He felt a mental caress from his partner. "Yes, my friend?" Murtagh smiled. He remembered the first time Thorn had heard the word friend. He was so confused. Once he understood, though, it stuck with him, his favorite endearment for his heart partner.

"Why do we feel this pull? Can we not spend our days here in peace?" Murtagh paused, hesitating. "Will we be forced to take up this mantle, to assist Eragon in restoring an order that will only fail again? Is this our penance?" Thorn responded immediately. "Do you feel at peace here, Murtagh?" It was a rhetorical reply, Murtagh knew. His answer was still slow in coming, and it felt like defeat to admit it. "No, Thorn. I feel neither peace nor purpose here." Thorn responded slowly, as though afraid to continue.

"Do you regret me hatching for you?" Murtagh started. "Of course not, Thorn. Never could I regret such a blessing." He felt the trap close around him in Thorns mind, his smugness giving it away. "Then why do you take it upon yourself to decide whether dragons, the wisest in the land, should be able to choose a life partner, as I did. Would you deny another the same camaraderie we share? To deny them such affection and loyalty?" Murtagh let a half smile come to his face.

"Wise dragons may be, but proud they are in equal parts. How do you explain a dragon choosing Galbotorix?" Thorn was silent for a time, and just as Murtagh thought the conversation was over, he was proved wrong. "I think such tragedies could be avoided. In fact, I believe your brother is working on such a solution while we waste away here." Murtagh snorted.

"You wish to go?" Thorn replied quickly, surprising him. "Yes." Murtagh thought for a moment, closing his mind from his partner.

Finally Murtagh sighed. "Well, at least give me a couple days to pack." He felt Thorn's surprise.

"Are you sure?" Murtagh laughed sardonically. "No, but I am sure you want to go, and what kind of Rider would I be to trap you here? We are partners, through thick and thin." Murtagh smiled softly. "We have done what I wanted to do for a decade. I have sought peace and came up unsuccessful. Mayhap your venture will be more worthwhile than mine." Thorn responded with the same amount of authority he had learned from Shrukain.

"We are beings of doing, my Rider. Doing nothing is not what we were made to do." Murtagh smiled, scratching the scales beneath his jaw lovingly. "I will love you forever, Thorn. But I must admit I feel this is a fool's path we shall walk." He turned, to begin packing away his meager belongings. "Being foolish it may seem to others, but others also considered Eragon's path a foolish one as well. Yet he accomplished what everyone said was impossible." Thorn paused for a moment. "We are meant for great things, meant to leave a great legacy. It would be foolish to expect otherwise. Let us not fear the path, but walk it with wariness all the same."

Murtagh smirked, pulling his pack from beneath his bed. "Maybe there is wisdom in that lizard brain of yours after all, brother." Thorn snarled half heartedly, but left Murtagh to his packing.

——————

Rider and dragon prepared to leave their home for the next three days. Murtagh did most of the preparing, that is. Thorn constantly reminded him how he had to take so long because he was fragile and soft, to which Murtagh constantly reminded him that he had to prepare because he had thumbs. This always aggravated Thorn, and Murtagh seemed to find it hilarious. That dawn found the pair waiting in front of the house, Thorn already saddled, and all of Murtagh's important belongings were packed in a wood framed pack, strapped to the saddle.

On Thorn's left side was strapped Zar'roc. Murtagh had no plans to use it, now or ever, but he couldn't seem to leave it to be looted in his absence. A burdensome blade it was, but Zar'roc was his burden to bear. On Murtagh's right side was belted his current sword. It was nothing fancy or expensive, but it was sturdy and held a good edge, and that's what mattered he supposed. The pair watched the sun rise as they had many times before, but unlike before, peace seemed to have settled on the pair upon making their decision. At the very least, Murtagh thought, we will get to see new land, and mayhap they would find their place in this new age that lay before them. Murtagh always did enjoy a good adventure. Memories of traveling with Eragon drifted through his mind, and Murtagh couldn't help but grin. Hopefully they could avoid trouble this time, without him there. He looked forward to seeing his brother, almost as much as he did seeing Ellesmera. He figured if he was to leave this land, he would visit before he left. Once the sun had finished its journey above the horizon, Murtagh jumped up to his saddle on Thorn's back, and waited. He would not rush his dragon, and nor did he have to. Within minutes, Thorns wings came up, and all of his muscles tended before he exploded into the air, accelerating upwards at a great speed. Murtagh grinned, loving the feeling of freedom that riding on Thorn gave him. Thorn eventually slowed to a pace he could keep all day without tiring himself, heading south towards the great forest, and Murtagh finally let the giddy euphoria envelop him that always seemed to come with a new adventure. Thorn and he merged minds, sharing eyes and senses, soaking up the sunlight and smells of pine that eventually reached the pair, and before noon, the pair were above the great forest, flying idly.

Murtagh snorted. "Firnen's invitation was nice, but it is useless to us. We will never find the city on our own." He felt Thorn's agreement in his head. The pair continued for another hour or so, and just as Murtagh was dozing off in the saddle, Thorn shook the entire forest for miles with a roar. Murtagh sat up, and had his sword halfway from his sheath before he took note of Thorns amusement. Cursing softly, he slid his sword back into his sheath.

"Who knew fate would pair me with one so obnoxious." Thorn's amusement grew ever more palpable, and he felt his chuckle from beneath him. "Who needs thumbs when you can roar so ferociously?" Murtagh half smiled, letting his annoyance drift away on the wind.

Before Murtagh could formulate a response, the pair heard an answering roar, so far in the distance it may have been an echo. Nevertheless, Thorn began to fly faster, releasing another roar. In Murtagh's head, he couldn't help but feel some amusement, comparing it to a children's game the kids played in the city streets. After a time, Thorns eyes made out a small glimmer of green in the distance, just as he heard an answering roar. Within the hour, Firnen was fully visible, even to Murtagh, and the pair flew towards each other faster. When they got close enough, the pair began to circle. To Murtagh's surprise, there was no rider or saddle upon Firnen's back. When the green dragon reached out to his mind, Murtagh immediately gave him access, as uncomfortable as it was.

"Greetings, Murtagh Morzansson, rider of Thorn Flamescales." His voice was deeper than Thorn's, but it had a smoothness to it that Thorn's didn't. Murtagh idly found himself wondering if it came from being bonded to an elf instead of a human. There was much he didn't know, he realized.

"Greetings, Firnen, bonded partner of Queen Arya. We are well met." Murtagh responded in kind. Firnen snorted in amusement. "You are here to take advantage of my invitation?" Murtagh nodded. "I never thought I would be granted access, and now that I have, I have a burning curiosity I must sate before we leave this land." He felt the younger dragon's surprise. "You plan to seek your brother?" Murtagh nodded firmly. "It is Thorn's wish that we quit hiding as hermits. He has stuck by me this past decade, and now it is my time to do the same for him." He felt Firnen's approval. "I am glad you have made this decision. I would ask that you stay within the city for a time, before you leave." Murtagh nodded. "As you wish, Firnen. We will stay as long as we can bear, but when the road calls us, we will have to leave." Firnen dipped his head. "Follow me, then, wind brothers. I shall take you to someone who may grant you entrance."

Firnen quickly dipped his wing, and Thorn followed him with no hesitation. They flew for a few hours, before Firnen dipped into a steep dive. Thorn circled overhead, waiting until Firnen had folded his wings in the clearing he decided to land in, before landing as softly as he could beside him. The trees around them were enormous, large enough that Murtagh doubted they could be felled by anyone, even if they had the help of magic. The woods were silent but for various insects. North of the clearing was a path wide enough for Firnen and Thorn to walk abreast, given they kept their wings tucked. Firnen waited until they had regained their composure, and quickly struck northwards along the path. Before the pair had made it half of a league, An elf in a white robe appeared before them, a golden staff in his hand, and white light surrounding him. His hair was silver, falling down to his chest, and he wore a solemn expression upon his face. The elf studied them for a time, and Murtagh began to get anxious. Finally the elf spoke.

"What is your purpose here, rider?" Murtagh licked his lips, and cleared his throat. "Firnen has granted us access to this place. We request passage." The elf looked deep in his eyes. "I shall grant you passage freely, given you preserve the peace we have worked hard to achieve. Keep your weapons sheathed, and passage is yours." Murtagh nodded, silently giving his assent. The elf stepped to the side, bowing at the waist. "The queen awaits you in her hall. It should be your first stop." Murtagh nodded, bowing in return. The trio continued on their path, and eventually reached the city.

"Behold, Rider, the city of Ellesmera." Firnen spoke directly into his mind, after Murtagh granted him passage. Murtagh saw elves watching him from the trees, and could make out the houses built within the trees. Firnen continued on, leading the pair to a large hall, consisting of trees grown together, only the occasional gap given for windows. Firnen waited for the door to be opened, before leading them directly into the throne room, where Arya sat with no expression upon her face. The pair approached, stopping at an acceptable distance. Murtagh dipped his head and part of his body in a courtly bow, while Thorn did nothing. Firnen bypassed them, curling up to the right of the throne.

"So you have come to us, Murtagh Morzansson. I see you were granted free passage, and that gives me hope that you are trustworthy." Arya paused. "For what purpose have you entered this city, Rider?" Murtagh cleared his throat. "This is but a stop on a longer journey, Queen Arya. I am in need of supplies before I begin the next leg of my venture, and Firnen made it clear I was welcome here by his grace." Murtagh snapped his jaw closed. He didn't want to say too much. Arya leaned forward in her throne. "Where shall this venture take you, Rider?" Murtagh replied strongly. "Thorn wishes to join my brother in the southeast. He has abided by my wishes for a decade." Murtagh paused, looking her directly in the eyes. "As his rider, it is my job to take his wishes into consideration. We shall go where Thorn wants to go, as he did for me a decade ago. We are a team, and his happiness means more to me than anything else." Arya showed no signs that his statement affected her, simply replying, "That is as it should be." She waved a hand towards them. "Ellesmera is open to you, Rider. I will have someone show you where you may rest." She paused. "I would appreciate your company this eve for dinner. I would hear of your ventures to the north before you leave us." Murtagh nodded, bowing before he followed the elf that seemed to appear at his side.

————

I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and things are starting to come together well for our wandering riders. Let me know what you thought!


	8. Arya’s Disquiet

Arya found herself in a foul mood as she left the throne room. She stalked through the hall, avoiding everyone she could, ignoring those she couldn't. Her week which Firnen had given her to put affairs in order had been wasted thus far, as she waited for an opportunity she knew she would not receive. Murtagh coming here had not helped her mood. No doubt Firnen would make her leave when Murtagh did, and she couldn't decide whether that was good or ill. Eragon had found him to be a good traveling companion, she supposed. Maybe she would as well.

That was beside the point she decided. She had wasted enough of her week wondering when she was going to announce her resignation. Murtagh's arrival seemed to reinforce the fact that she didn't have much time. Arya exited the hall, heading down one of the many winding paths through the forest. She paid no attention to her destination, deeply immersed within her own mind. Firnen hadn't spoken with her much, only when necessary. Perhaps he was afraid she would try to change his mind. She had already decided she wouldn't. She had held the both of them captive for too long, and knowing how he felt still left her shattered inside. What she hated was the feeling that she was failing her mother. Arya finally looked up when she noticed the dogwood tunnel she approached. She blinked, thinking, before she continued upon the path. The changing of steel echoed through the clearing ahead, heralding an orange glow in the distance.

Rhunön never seemed to slow down. Today she was crafting a set of plate gauntlets, hands that were capable of smashing a skull clean from a body tapped ever so gently upon the steel. Rhunön paid her no attention until she had finished the part she was working on. Inside of her, Arya felt a flare of annoyance. It seemed she was surrounded by disrespect lately, between Murtagh and Rhunön. However, she reflected, she had went seeking them, not the other way around. She pushed her aggravation aside and waited patiently.

In time, the weathered elf sat aside the plate she was working upon and looked up. "Drottning, how may I help you?" The old elf was not overly rude, nor was she polite, ignoring the customary greeting. Arya swiftly replied in kind.

"I need nothing, wise one, but perhaps I could bend your ear in private?" Rhunön eyed her strangely, before removing her apron, beckoning her back into her atrium, through to her kitchen. She pulled out a chair for the queen, before bringing a bottle and two cups to the table and joining her. Rhunön said nothing after she had settled into her glass of liquor, staring at the elf expectantly.

"What can an old blacksmith do for you, Drottning?" Arya waved a hand at the blacksmith.

"Let us dispense of the titles for the moment, Rhunön. I tire of them quickly these days." Arya picked up her glass, drinking heavily from the glass. "I am in need of your advice."

Rhunön snorted. "If you've come seeking political advice from me, young one, you've come to the wrong place. I bother myself not with such affairs." Arya quickly shook her head.

"I did not say I was in need of political advice. This is of a more personal nature." Arya hated the feeling of leaning off a precipice. Yet that was how she felt at this moment. Silence fell in the dark room, and only the distant sound of the forge fire could be heard. Arya did not know how to broach such a delicate topic with such an old elf.

However, she did not have to. Rhunön did so for her. "You have discovered your mistake, I can see it in your eyes." Arya's eyes darted to hers, filled with anger and desperation.

"I know not what to do, Rhunön. Firnen is so angry with me. I have spent these years keeping him trapped here, and he has discovered that it is not his purpose. He says this is not our duty." Arya's voice wavered as she tried to regain her emotional control. Rhunön did not make her feel any better.

"He is not wrong. Firnen did not choose you because of your birthright any more than Saphira chose Eragon because he was a farm boy. The council was foolish to seek you as queen, and you were doubly foolish to accept the position." Arya simply stared at the withered elf in shock.

"You think I do not belong on the throne." Arya did not ask, she stated. She knew already, she just wanted confirmation. Rhunön nodded sharply.

"You forsook a sacred duty for your birthright. Perhaps before Firnen chose you, you belonged on the throne. Now however, the only throne you belong on is a dragon saddle." Arya was quiet.

"He gave me a week to put my affairs in order. He says we are leaving, and the only choice I have is whether to ride on his back or in his claw." Rhunön chuckled.

"Firnen is better tempered than most dragons I have met. Most would have opted to take you then and there." Rhunön paused. "I suggest you gather your belongings and strike out when he asks. Abdicate or flee, it matters not to me, it does not impact my life, but he chose you for a duty. You never struck me one to shirk such responsibilities."

Arya was silent for a time. She did not expect the smith to have such an opinion on her duty. Annoyance flared within her. When would she be free to choose her own path? Would everyone always try to meddle in her affairs? "How many of my people believe as you do?"

Rhunön smiled. "Few care, I believe. But those that do believe as I do. The council alone wanted you on the throne once Firnen hatched for you." Rhunön leaned forward slightly. "You know well that most of the council is driven by ulterior motives, and that most of those motives are unknown to the general populace. Feuds and desires are what makes the council what it is." She snorted "In my time, the ruler had no council. They made decisions on their own, and spent most of their time among their people as friends and confidants. It was a good system." Rhunön leaned back, drinking from her cup. The pair sat in silence for a time. Eventually, Arya stood, preparing to leave.

Rhunön stopped her before she left. "You sent a runner to me with a letter from the Lead Rider. I have an answering letter of you would deliver it when you get there." Arya started. She had almost forgotten about Rhunon's letter.

"Eragon's half brother is here, on his way to see him. Perhaps it would be better for Murtagh to deliver said letter. I know where they stand with the other, whilst I don't know where he and I stand."

Rhunön looked over her for a moment. "Where is he staying? I shall visit him, since you are taking your leave."

"We have housed him in Vrael's house, as it seems Eragon won't be coming to stay any time soon." Arya almost warned her about Murtagh's nature, but thought better of it. Rhunön could handle the stripling.

Rhunön replied swiftly, putting away the cups on the table. "Then I bid you farewell, Arya Shur'tugal. May I see you again in good health." Arya nodded, before leaving the house through the atrium.

The title took Arya off guard. She had not heard it since it was used for Eragon. Never, she realized, had she been addressed as such. It filled her with a sense of peace, fulfillment even. She shook her head, making her way to Tialdari Hall. She walked slower now, knowing that her next stop after her quarters would be Vrael's home. She entered the hall, making her way to her quarters, where, to her surprise, Lord Foilr waited for her. She had a fair amount of respect for the elf, who had given her a riders blade. If she were to pass, he would restate his claim upon it, but that did not bother her. For when she died, no longer would it be her problem. Foilr could retrieve the sword himself. A lifetime loan with no interest charged was a good deal. Arya began the traditional greeting, and then, finished it with the third line. Lord Foilr smiled at her in a fatherly fashion. "How are you today, Arya Drottning?"

Arya nodded stoically. "The evening finds me well, Lord Foilr. How may I be of assistance?"

"Straight to business, I see." Foilr paused, gathering his thoughts, it seemed. "How long will Murtagh Morzansson be here in our home?" Arya understood immediately.

"He shall be gone within a week. He has a long journey ahead of himself, and needs supplies. A few days of rest I could not deny him, as chances are that he will not be back again." Arya paused for a moment. "I am glad that you took the time to visit me, Lord Foilr. I need you to have the council gathered on the morrow for a most important meeting. Can you do this for me?"

Foilr nodded, delight in his eyes, thinking he had curried favor with his queen. "It shall be done, Drottning." The stark differences between the titles she had been called today struck her again. Shur'tugal, she decided, had a better ring to it. Foilr took his leave, and Arya took the opportunity to prepare for her dinner with Murtagh. Knowing that tomorrow she would be giving up her crown both excited her and terrified her. She finished up and left the hall, striding silently across the grass, until she was at the bottom of Vrael's home.

The lanterns above were unshuttered, and crimson reflections shimmered on the leaves outside the dragon entrance. She heard the sounds of what she knew was a dragon's laugh from above her. She began her way up the stairs, stopping at the door in front of her before knocking. It only took Murtagh a little over a second to open the door and usher her in.

"Greetings, Arya Drottning." Murtagh's demeanor was much kinder than he had been last time. He seemed to be in a pleasant mood, with a half smile on his face. He ushered her into the dining hall on the left, where a table large enough to seat four took up the room, and Rhunön sat in one of the seats, Zar'roc laid in front of her on the table. Rhunön nodded at her cordially, an uncharacteristic smile upon her face. Arya seated herself across from Rhunön, and Murtagh took the seat between them.

Murtagh spoke up before the silence stretched on. "We are happpy you are here, Drottning. We were just discussing the differences between dwarven and elven forging. I had not realized that Rhunön elda had learned from Korgan himself. In this age it seems strange to think that the best elven smith there is, whose work surpasses all, learned from a dwarf."

Rhunön laughed heartily. "Flattery will get you nowhere here, Murtagh. The dwarves surpassed us for many years when we first arrived in this land. Korgan was a stern dwarf, with little time for even his own children. He did not juggle running a clan and a family very well, especially in the earlier years. He had passed over his youngest born as an apprentice, due to his unbending nature, and chose me instead. I had fetched the dwarf his forge materials for years trying to get him to teach me. I eventually had to win the right in an arm wrestling competition. He told me that if I couldn't beat him, then I didn't have the strength to swing a hammer. To his surprise, I won. Honestly, it surprised me as well. He was a good teacher." Rhunön laughed again, drinking from her cup. "The man couldn't have been five feet tall, yet his forearms were as thick as the blade of a dwarven broadsword is wide, and another one beside it." Murtagh laughed in amazement.

"How long did you apprentice under him?" Rhunön leaned her head back thinking.

"A little over two decades. Three if you count the years I ran his smithing supplies for him." Murtagh shook his head in wonder.

"Your determination is not surprising, yet I can't help but praise you for it. Dwarves are well known for their stubbornness. To out stubborn a dwarf is impressive." Rhunön chuckled, but did not refute his statement. Instead, she pulled out a letter from her sleeve, handing it to him.

"Murtagh, I ask that you deliver this letter to your brother for me. I am glad for the opportunity to meet you myself. I see very little of your father in you, and if you ever seek entrance again to this city, mention my name. I would vouch for you." Murtagh smiled at her in thanks, taking the letter.

"You just say that because I've returned one of your children. I did not know you had forged it, but it seems only right that it should go back to you. I can no longer bear the burden of it as I seek to change my fortune." Rhunön nodded, picking Zar'roc up from the table and promptly took her leave.

Just like that, Arya was left alone with Murtagh, with food still upon the table. The silence stretched for but a moment, before Murtagh spoke up.

"We may as well eat before we talk, Drottning. It has been here for some time as it is, and I wouldn't want it to go cold." Murtagh chose his words with care, a stark contrast to how he had acted up north. Maybe, Arya thought, he had been more saddle weary than she had perceived. She said nothing, grabbing her fork and beginning her meal. When their plates were clear, Arya reached for her cup, and was surprised to find naught but water in it. She looked at the man before her, reevaluating her observations of the human rider before her.

She knew very little about him, except for the fact that Eragon had fought tooth and nail to save or kill him. She was surprised when he broke the silence first.

"I fear I must apologize for my behavior at our last meeting. I will not burden you with excuses as to why I acted as I did, just that I apologize. Your hospitality is humbling, and much appreciated." Murtagh was looking her directly in the eyes, apology shining in them.

Arya sighed. "I fear I did not approach the situation with the right mindset. My rudeness was inexcusable as well, and I am ashamed to have acted as I did. However, I must thank you. You imparted much knowledge that I had need of. You did not lie to me about anything, and though blunt, your honesty was needed." Arya paused, debating with herself. "When do you plan to leave Ellesmera?"

Murtagh smiled politely, obviously fighting the half smirk he would have responded with in a different setting. "Firnen has requested we stay for four more days. That gives us time to gather supplies and explore the city, although I fear Rhunön draws my curiosity more than anyone. Once the fourth day dawns, we shall leave to the east."

Arya drew her breath deep preparing for what she was going to say. "Tomorrow morning, I shall abdicate my throne. If it is not a bother, I would appreciate a traveling companion." Murtagh's surprise was very obvious.

"What drove you to such a decision?"

Arya grinned at him, though it came as more of a grimace.

"The decision was not mine. Your dialogue up north inspired and enlightened Firnen to our true calling. I have kept him trapped too long under the pines. If I am not ready in four days, I apparently shall make the trip in his claws instead of the saddle."

Murtagh struggled to hold his laugh, but couldn't. He chuckled for a few moments but not any longer. "I didn't expect to be the easiest to convince to go live with my brother. Thorn asked to go, and we are a team. He did what I wanted to do for almost a decade. How could I refuse him his request?" Murtagh shook his head. "I guess we shall be traveling companions, then, Arya Shur'tugal." Arya let the feeling of peace flow through her, letting slip a small smile of appreciation.

———————

This chapter was hard to write. Let me know what you think!


	9. Raising Homes

Eragon sat upon a boulder in the clearing where his almost finished home was. Frames lay around the house, waiting to be raised and nailed together. Blodgharm and himself had been working for the last week on filling the foundation with stone, and melding the stone together with magic. It took an enormous amount of energy, and it took most of the week to finish melding the rock together. All things considered, Eragon was grateful for the elf's help. He wouldn't be near ready to raise walls without his help. He had spent the last two days shaping wood and building frames by his self. Blodgharm had been keeping watch over the egg transport from afar for him, though Eragon had cast numerous spells over the party and the eggs they carried. Without another rider to entrust the party to, it all fell on him, and he could feel how stretched thin he was.

In truth, Eragon found it hard to trust any but Arya with the eggs, but she had enough to occupy herself with, and the company he had handpicked he trusted with his life. Besides, he thought, she had chosen her path, and he had chosen his. This was his responsibility and his alone. He would not beg for her assistance, he was too stubborn. It was one trait he couldn't seem to let go of. It had served him well in the past, after all.

Eragon looked up, noting the position of the sun, realizing he had tarried here long enough. He gathered his resolve and gained his feet, putting his hammer in the tree by his ax, and retrieving his tunic. He meandered his way down to the river to bathe, before putting his tunic back on and making his way to the keep. The door was still propped open, and the fire still crackling happily. Blodgharm sat in his usual chair at the table, a bowl of water before him. Eragon cleared his throat, drawing the elf's attention. Blodgharm quickly cut the spell, giving him his full attention.

"Well?" Eragon inquired. Blodgharm shook his head, pushing the bowl away from himself.

"Everything goes well. Not even a single bandit." Eragon nodded.

"I do not foresee them having trouble until they cross into Hedarth, yet it lets me sleep easier knowing we are keeping an eye on them." Blodgharm nodded in agreement.

"I understand completely. We have a fair amount of risk on the board right now. It is only fair we keep a close eye on our chess pieces." Eragon patted the elf on the shoulder, taking his seat.

"I appreciate you doing this for me, Blodgharm. It puts me at ease knowing you are watching out for them. You are a good man." Blodgharm simply nodded.

"Soup is hot, if you want some." Eragon grunted in acknowledgment, raising himself to his feet, and trekking to the kitchen, retrieving a bowl of soup and a cup of water. He returned to the hall, taking his seat by the blue furred elf. He scarfed down the food, washing it down with the water, before leaning back in his seat.

Blodgharm cleared his throat, leaning back in his own chair. "How goes the house?"

Eragon chuckled in reply, saying "One day at a time, as it always does. I managed to get the frames built, but I shall need your help tomorrow to raise them."

Blodgharm smiled his fanged grin, replying. "I fear it shall fall apart, since you are forging the nails. I saw your first attempt at a dagger. An elven child could have done better with no instruction."

Eragon snorted in disgust. "My hands have spent most of their life wielding weapons of war. I seek to change that. Besides, I have improved drastically. The nails will hold up fine."

Blodgharm nodded. "We have all noted that you don't carry your sword anymore. We thought you had tossed it away, until I saw it in your study. You seek a noble way of life, but all the same, you should still hone your swordsmanship. You were ferocious on the battlefield, a decade ago. The day will come again when you must wield Brisingr once more. It would not do for you to be unable to defend yourself."

It was Eragon's turn to grunt in acknowledgement. "I know you speak truth, my friend. Perhaps when we finish raising the walls tomorrow we could spar. With the journey I have ahead of me, it would do some good to practice."

Blodgharm smiled at him, before gaining his feet. "Well, if you are going to make me work that hard tomorrow, mayhap I should get some rest. I shall see you an hour before daybreak."

Eragon grinned at him. "I doubt I am more ferocious than you on the battlefield, Redfang. You fought by my side many a time. May there be many more." Blodgharm simply waved a hand before walking away.

Eragon smiled to himself, before gathering himself and heading to his study. The path felt well worn after this decade, almost as if his feet had worn their shape into the stone. Maybe the steps had just shaped his feet.

His study was something he never knew he would need, or use as much as he did. Over the last few years, he found himself here more and more. Writing down his dreams, along with poems and other papers of research. He devoured the texts that he had saved from Galbotorix's collection, of subjects mundane and small to subjects dark and vile. Some of these he found churned his stomach, but the more he knew of such things the less he would be surprised by further down the road.

One book he found still sparked his interest to this day. He had read it numerous times, and still found information within he had missed the time before.

When Eragon had entered Tarnag, he had encountered a dwarven clan that was rather hostile towards him and his induction into Orik's clan. The book he had recovered spoke much of Anhuin and Vrael's history. He still read it occasionally, hoping to find a cure for the animosity he faced from that clan.

Eragon shook of his thoughts, before he spent the evening brooding on things he couldn't change. He sat at his desk, absently rifling through papers stacked in the corner, before Brisingr caught his eye, glinting beautifully in the sinking sunlight.

To look at the sword and not immediately think of how beautiful his life partner was he found impossible. He felt in the depths of their connection her appreciation, and he smiled lovingly to himself. He gained his feet, approaching the shelf slowly. He knew Blodgharm was right, he should carry it, and stay familiar with it. He gently reached out and grabbed Brisingr, taking it with him as he left the study.

He meandered slowly to his room, feeling the days work weighing heavily upon his limbs. When he opened the door, Saphira lay within her indention in the floor, the occasional trail of smoke drifting from her nostrils. She was the most beautiful being he had ever lay eyes on, shimmering blue, kind and ferocious all at once. Once more it struck him how much they had changed since she had first hatched. From walking side by side in the woods of Carvahall, without a care In the world, to maintaining a keep large enough to house hundreds of Riders, learning and waiting, constantly feeling the weight of responsibility. Eragon sighed, gently laying Brisingr on the bed, before crawling in beside Saphira. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was out.

———————

Eragon woke at the normal time, hours before sunrise. Saphira was gone already, as she was most mornings. He knew she would sit atop the keep and keep watch for the sunrise. It was an activity that reminded him of her first, upon the post of his bed outside of Carvahall. Still, with her awaiting it, he knew the sun would never be late, for none would keep a dragon waiting. Eragon rose from his sleeping spot, digging out clothes from his wardrobe. His boots caught his eye, in the corner of the room. He grabbed those as well, deciding he would need them today. After so many years of not wearing footwear, it was strange to slip them on. Eragon rose, grabbing Brisingr, belting on the sword before he left his room, heading towards the kitchen.

Sitting upon the back steps of the kitchen was Blodgharm, strangely bleary eyed this morning. Eragon decided not to ask, instead making a cup of tea and joining him on the step, letting silence flow more comfortably than words would have. Eragon sipped slowly on his tea, doing his best not to scald his tongue. The pair sat in silence for a time, until the pair had finished their tea. They seemed to rise in unison, silent and graceful, making their way up into the hills with the same destination in mind. They had spent weeks walking the same path, after all. Camaraderie and friendship had bloomed over the weeks, a friendship neither of them had ever expected.

Eragon had learned quickly that despite appearances, Blodgharm was not a morning person. He was at his most personable right before noon, and would remain that way deep into the night. Despite his aversion to being up early, however, he had taken to spending his free days getting up early to help the First Rider. He wasn't much for conversation this early, Eragon had discovered quickly, but he was still a good help. Once the pair had arrived, Eragon stripped his tunic, and grabbed his hammer, sliding it within his belt. Wordlessly, the elf walked the perimeter, inspecting the frames Eragon had built. He had nothing worth saying out loud, but Eragon noticed a look of approval in his eyes. The elf leaned down, and, with a strangely visible effort, lifted the edge of the frame up. Eragon walked over, helping the elf lift the frame into the correct position on top of the foundation. Once there, Blodgharm easily held it into position, as Eragon lifted another frame into position, straining to get it into the proper position. Eventually, he managed to butt the frames together at a right angle. Once in position, it was easier to hold, easy enough that it was little effort to nail them together. Once attached, the frames stood by themselves. The pair stood back, panting slightly, looking at their handiwork. Eragon drank from his waterskin, offering it to Blodgharm, who took it gratefully. Once the pair had caught their breath, they continued on. They quickly got into a rhythm, and before the sun had risen and reached its highest point, they had all the frames attached. The pair sat where the porch would eventually have steps, drinking from the waterskin, and trying to catch their breath.

"It seems you forgot to build a frame, Eragon." Eragon didn't bother to look, laughing slightly.

"Saphira won't fit through the front door, Blodgharm. A spell of protection and concealment will have to do. I ran into such a spell at Helgrind, when I went to fulfill my promise to my cousin. I promised myself I would remember that spell. Everyone tells me I am a man of my word." Blodgharm smiled slightly.

"That you are, Eragon. I think it should be grounds for a new title myself." Eragon snorted.

"I have enough titles, Blodgharm. Bestow upon me no more, please!" Blodgharm chuckled out loud.

"What, my friend? I think Eragon Promise-keeper has a good sound to it. Mayhap Eragon Oathkeeper? Nay, maybe Eragon the Fulfiller. There we go! I shall send out the letters so that it will be recognized across the land." Eragon shook his head, laughing.

"Put this nonsense to bed, Blodgharm."

Blodgharm laughed quietly, before letting silence drift back into its comfortable place. The pair eventually made their way to the stream to bathe, before heading back to the keep. Blodgharm had kept an eye on the entourage throughout the day, but not as much as yesterday.

Perhaps half a league from the keep, right outside of the wood line, the pair stopped, drawing out their swords in the same breath. Eragon willed the dulling spell into existence, his face showing nothing but blank indifference. The pair circled the other in a slow deliberate dance, both feeling the other out. Blodgharm's body didn't give away his first strike. Eragon knew better than to expect it to, as well. Blodgharm's eyes gave him away, the excitement of the battle shining through brighter than before. Blodgharm was quick, almost invisible to the untrained warrior, but Eragon was far from untrained.

Eragon blocked Blodgharm's thrust with a sidestep, faking towards Blodgharm's forward leg. The elf twirled back to avoid the hit, and Eragon quickly followed him, leading with an overhead strike, quickly turning into a thrust of his own when Blodgharm blocked him. Eragon blocked a flurry of blows from the elf, never losing any ground, even gaining a few on certain blocks. Once Eragon got a feel for Blodgharm's battle style, he quickly went on the offensive, never making the same strike twice, even switching hands in an effort to confuse the elf. The pair sparred to a standstill, neither able to land a blow on the other. The pair drifted apart after a furious bout, neither willing to admit defeat, yet neither wanting to continue. Eragon finally made a call, sheathing his sword.

"A good bout, Blodgharm. Let us continue it tomorrow?" Blodgharm nodded, hiding the look of relief in his eyes, as he sheathed his own blade.

"You have not forgotten the art of sparring, Lead Rider. I thought you had me at the end there." Eragon chuckled, making his way towards the keep with his friend.

"It was good to hold my sword again." The pair bantered back and forth on their way back home, eating a light supper of bread and butter before retiring for the night.

Eragon made his way to his room, where his life partner waited for him.

Saphira was the most beautiful shade of blue that was possible, in his opinions. While he was sure being linked to her for life had something to do with it, it didn't bother him. The way she shimmered in the flames from the fireplace never failed to entrance him. Sapphires seemed to dance along the stone walls and ceiling when she was here, and the slight sound of scales scratching stone as she breathed put him at ease.

He unbuckled Brisingr from his side and lay it on the bed, before changing into his nightwear. Saphira just eyed him expectantly.

"Was the sunrise on time today, queen of the skies?" Saphira simply huffed her amusement.

"He was later than usual. Seasons are changing." Saphira shifted her position, as Eragon slid into her bed and under her wing.

"They seem to change faster than they once did. Lately it seems that every time I blink it is time to greet another year. It is a shame that the peaceful years seem to move so fast, when the harsh ones dragged about for ages." Eragon reached up and scratched under her jaw, and she hummed in response, a deep rolling hum that seemed to shake the walls.

Eventually Eragon drifted to sleep, the labor of the day weighing on his body like ballast on a ship, holding him in place as his mind slowed, and his body slipped into the trance he now called sleep.

It was easy to lose track of time when he slept. Colors and memories and dreams all flashed through his head, some his, some Saphira's. Near the morning, at his usual waking time, he was beset by a dream...nay, a premonition.

_ A short figure, dressed in all black, wielding a short battle axe fought with another. The other figure, he could tell had been roused in his sleep, still wearing his sleeping clothes, the battle wore on for a few minutes, when at the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flash of purple, shining in the firelight. The man who was in his sleepwear turned to address the flash of purple, and his loss of concentration was his undoing. The dark clad figure struck true, leaving the axe in the mans skull. An inhuman shriek sounded, and what was now apparent to be a dragon, just a hatchling, crawled towards the fallen man, standing guard over him. The man in black was not to be deterred however. He pulled out a knife, one of ornate make, and promptly swung it at the hatchling._

Eragon woke with enough speed that he was out of the divot before his eyes were open. He rushed over to his bedside table and retrieved his quill and ink, jotting down the dream in its entirety. The few hours he had left before it was time for him to rise, he meditated, trying to remember every detail.

—————————

Apologies for the delay, I've been rather busy at work and at home. I haven't forgotten this story, and have full intentions of seeing it out. Thank you for your patience!


End file.
